


Unripe

by Violetta Jones (ViolettaJones)



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, F/M, Het and Slash, M/M, Past Tense, Present Tense, Single POV, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 15:04:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 97,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolettaJones/pseuds/Violetta%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zoro eats, trains, sleeps. Zoro focuses, fights, and dreams. Zoro strives for a simple life, and hates complications. What to do, when others make his life a complicated mess? And what about these dreams he has no control over?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enjoy the silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's kinda comforting to know I can be around you and still enjoy the silence."

There's a moment, while one is on watch in the crow's nest, when the night is young, despite the fact the sky turned dark some time ago. A moment when the mind is free to wander. In the quiet, warm air surrounding summer islands, everything stands still, and one might feel like reminiscing about places, people they've left behind. Perhaps this recollection will bring a face to one's mind, of the kind they've last seen such a long time ago it now comes out slightly blurry.

Sometimes, that's just what one feels like doing. But not tonight. Tonight is about the present, and about the future. A very near future.

Sitting against the wooden railing, a bottle of sake in his hand and the night sky's horizon in his eyes, Zoro is waiting. His crew-mates have gone to bed a while ago, and the ship, lost in the middle of this terrible, inhospitable, lonely ocean, is strikingly quiet. Especially compared to the usual commotion that takes place during daylight.

The day has been an uneventful one, as much as it could possibly be on the Straw-hat ship. Yes, there was agitation – at some point. Luffy fell into the waters while trying to catch his hat, claimed by a sudden gust of wind. Usopp burst a thing or two. Zoro himself had yet another argument with the shit cook – he can't even remember why, now, which is nothing unusual. Their quarrels always start with meaningless stuff. Not even Nami's screeching at her friends' antics, or her commands, uttered in a loud yet surprisingly steady voice when an unannounced storm engulfed the ship, could really disturb the comfortable, usual routine.

But tonight is his turn to be on watch duty, and he made sure to take a long nap in the afternoon. Right now, he's not sleepy at all.

Sitting in the crow's nest, bathed in moonlight and silence, watching the million stars reflected in the calm waters, occasionally taking a few sips from the sake bottle he snatched from the cook's stock, Zoro is waiting.

He knows she will come. She always does.

There was no deal between them, no agreement. They didn't talk about it beforehand – nor did they afterward. It just ended up happening, as surprising as it might look to any of their crew-mates. But Zoro doesn't think any of them realizes what is happening. And it is fortunate, because it would cause all sorts of problem, if someone did.

True enough, Zoro himself was at a loss when it first started. One day, he found himself involved, not really knowing how it happened, when it really started, or what triggered it. It just happened, like that. And Zoro doesn't like to think about such things, so, he doesn't.

It's difficult, nearly impossible to imagine that anything would happen between them. They didn't get along very well at first, and she made sure he knew where he stood.

True, he's the first mate, and thus, has responsibilities regarding the whole crew. But so has she, and in the end, she's the one leading them through the vast oceans, towards their goal. The captain makes decisions, and after he does, she's basically the one in charge, in a way. Zoro only stands between the two of them, making up for his captain's shortcomings when it comes to self-preservation, and ensuring the people around him are safe when the latter can't.

He merely protects them on their way, while she's leading them towards a great future. Zoro knows he couldn't, that he doesn't have the required abilities to do so, and he admires her for that. Simply put, she is irreplaceable, while Zoro isn't.

In the end, they don't have much in common. It isn't just about the way they interacted, in the beginning. She was – still is – smart and cunning. Everyone on board knows that. Not that she can't fight, but she's physically weak, though he would never think of her as such. Her self-preservation instincts are probably the strongest among the crew, and have been great since she was a child. She could pull through dangerous situations with her wits alone. She has proved that many times since they started their journey.

And in Zoro's opinion, she spends way too much time thinking.

He's the opposite. He doesn't think much, though he doesn't believe he's stupid _per se_. He prefers observing his surroundings, not willing to restrict his horizon by making hasty judgments. Whatever happens, he knows he could get himself out of it with his strength and skills with swords alone. If he didn't, he wouldn't deserve to become the best swordsman in the world.

They couldn't be more different from one another than they are.

Yet, _it_ happened. Zoro still wonders how it ended up like this. And this time, his swords and strength are useless. He couldn't get out of it, even if he wanted to.

He doesn't really know what he wants.

***

It first started after Vivi left the ship. They all missed her, even he did, as well – not that he would ever ramble about it, like his crew-mates. But somehow, he had the gut feeling her absence was harder on her. Vivi had been the only other female on board, it was only natural they ended up being close. Robin wasn't on board for enough time yet to fill in the void, and he noticed, through his silent watching, that she looked a bit sad, when she thought nobody was looking. It was so like her – putting up a front for the world to see, and keeping her troubles to herself, even though she was surrounded by people who cared about her.

Which is why he was very surprised, to say the least, when she joined him, one night, as he was sitting alone in the crow's nest during his watch.

She had climbed up there, and silently sat opposite from him, against the wooden railing. She said she couldn't sleep, and asked if he minded that she stayed with him for a bit. He shrugged, indicating he didn't. She had brought a few bottles, and handed one to him.

"Thanks."

He uncorked it in a deft flick of his wrist, and gestured to exchange it with her for another, still unopened one. She raised an interrogative eyebrow, before understanding what he meant.

"Don't bother. I've got a bottle-opener with me."

After opening her own bottle, she started sipping on it, while he had already drunk about half of his in long, greedy gulps. Beer. Not his favorite thing,but not bad either. He felt her eyes on him while he was wiping his mouth on his wrist. He let the arm holding the half-empty bottle fall to rest against his thigh, and stared back.

"What?"

"Nothing." She sighed, as if to prove him right, despite her denial.

They sat silently in the quiet, barely warm night, finishing their bottles, and then a couple more each, until there were none left. He glanced at her when she sighed again. Her cheeks seemed slightly flushed because of the drinking – then again, it was hard to tell in the pale moonlight. He knew she could hold her alcohol very well, so he wasn't worried about her being drunk, or even tipsy. He averted his eyes when she glanced back at him, not willing to seem like he was openly prying. Despite what the stupid cook used to say, he had some manners, though he was ready to admit to himself that they might be slightly unpolished and rough. And contrary to that shit-head, he knew what privacy and personal space were about.

"You now..." She started pensively. "I used to like being on watch. The ship is always full of noise and agitation, and it felt like a nice change of pace." She paused. "It's so quiet right now."

They fell silent again. She was sitting cross-legged, a hand resting on her knee, absentmindedly brushing her thumb against her bare skin. He was waiting for her to go on, resting his head against the wooden planks in his back, somehow knowing she wasn't done.

"But lately, it feels awfully lonely. I hate it when it's that quiet."

His eyes turned back to her at these words. She was looking at the floor, her eyes almost closed, as if she was about to fall asleep, but her deceivingly pretty face looked a little forlorn. Yet, Zoro knew he wasn't good with comforting people, so he said nothing.

Minutes passed in silence, until she started chuckling. Zoro raised an interrogative eyebrow at her.

"It's weird, but you know, in the end, you're the only quiet one in this crew. It's kinda comforting to know I can be around you and still enjoy the silence."

He narrowed his eyes a bit. Was that a compliment, or a disguised insulting comment?

"Maybe that's why I'm here." She added after a couple seconds. "I knew you would listen, and nothing more."

Oh. So that's how it was.

He settled on answering with a noncommittal grunt. They fell back into silently enjoying each other's company, for all it was worth. He soon found himself closing his eyes, not really dozing off, but not far from doing so either.

"It's a bit cold."

Her voice was muffled and shaky. He opened an eye, and saw she was indeed shivering, holding her chest tightly and rubbing her arms to recover a little warmth. He sighed, and threw the blanket he had brought with him, just in case, in her direction. She needed it more than he did. He then closed his eyes, and resumed napping.

However, after a couple minutes, she started complaining again.

"I'm still cold."

Her voice held a faint reproachful tone, and he idly wondered why. That woman was annoying. What did she want him to do about it? What could he do anyway?

He heard her standing up, and thought she was leaving for the much warmer galley, or maybe her bed. He didn't even bother opening his eyes.

When he felt something warm pressing against him, however, he opened them and glance downwards. She was sitting next to him, pressing her arm against his, the blanket snug around her shivering frame. She let out a shaky sigh, and rested her head on his shoulder. That unusual contact made his heartbeat race a bit.

_What the hell?_ He usually endured Luffy's touchy-feely demeanor stoically, but Nami wasn't like that. She rarely initiated physical contact with anyone, unless there was a good reason – and certainly not with him, because there was none. Ever. Why was she doing that, now? Was there a reason? He didn't know how to react. It was strange.

It struck him, and he stopped breathing for a split second when he realized it. There was, indeed, something he could do for her, and the implied reproach in her voice, earlier, led him to think that she'd had it in mind since the beginning. The booze, the complaining about the cold. The implied plea for comfort. It finally made sense, but what was she thinking? They were crew-mates. This was a bad idea. And why him, when the shitty cook would be more than pleased to oblige?

Well, he wasn't the ero-cook, and he certainly wouldn't do so. It was his duty to protect the crew, even if it was from themselves. He had to make sure they kept in check. So, he sat there awkwardly, stiff as a poker, and, unable to keep looking at her, he focused on the wooden floor, trying to ignore the warmth from her body, which he could feel, seeping through their respective clothing.

As he felt her shifting slightly against him, he had to refrain from umping. Before he could prevent it, his eyes fell on her again, and, realizing she was _snuggling_ against him, he thought he'd better send her away, the sooner the better. He opened his mouth to tell her she should go to bed, but with a single look at her face, turned to him, her chin resting lightly on his shoulder, the words died on his lips. As if she knew what he was about to say, there was a silent plea to let her stay in her eyes.

She looked so small, so vulnerable all of a sudden, that he couldn't find it in himself to send her away for now. If Zoro was many things, he wasn't that insensitive, especially not to one of his crew-mates' obvious display of loneliness. But what to do, now? She was obviously seeking something, possibly of the kind he wouldn't let himself offer. But he wouldn't leave her like that, even though he was bad at providing any kind of comfort. Did she really mean what he thought she did, anyway?

Oh well. He gave up thinking about it, which was a waste of time. He guessed he could provide mild, mediocre comfort, at best. It was her fault for asking the wrong person, anyway. All he could do was helping her as much as he could – as much as he would dare. He would make sure things wouldn't get complicated.

Sighing exaggeratedly, he scratched his head, and raised the arm that was squeezed between them, trying his best to make the gesture look natural, not too awkward, before letting it fall back on her shoulders.

She fumbled with the blanket to wrap it over them both, and pressed herself closer. He realized he had made a mistake when, a moment later, he felt her hand brushing faintly against his knee, soon sliding toward his inner thigh. Well, that was it. It proved that this was definitely what she had in mind from the start, and he had followed through with her plan willingly, though quite naively. He cursed inwardly at himself for his lack of foresight. Seeing her so vulnerable had made him forget how manipulative she could get when she wanted something. And what she wanted, she usually got.

Her hand was now sneaking further along his thigh, and she slightly turned her head, her nose and lips brushing almost accidentally against his neck. He nearly gasped at this soft, faintly moist touch. His face started to feel very warm at the thought of the place her hand was headed, and he knew he was starting to react positively to her slow gestures.

This was wrong. This was a bad idea. A bad, bad idea. A tremendously bad one. Definitely. Not to mention he was also kind of bad at these kind of things, anyway. Well, not really bad, but not good either. He wasn't conceited enough to think his meager experience in that field made him more than awkwardly qualified in bed.

Yet, at the sensation of her warmth against him, of her faint touch, he couldn't prevent his mind from wandering a bit. When was the last time...? He reckoned it last happened months ago. They were nakama, and doing this might cause all kinds of problems later, he mused, but they were both reasonable adults, weren't they? And this was just physical comfort, nothing more.

_No._ This was still a bad idea. Knowing she wouldn't stop before she got what she wanted, he closed his eyes, breathed deeply, trying to keep unwanted thoughts and urges in check, and braced himself. He was strong, and this was just another kind of fight. He wouldn't concede that easily.

She must have felt him tense, because moments later, her hand left his thigh, much to his relief. She sighed deeply, and snuggled closer to him.

Strangely, it was that considerate gesture that overthrew him. Yes, he felt relieved at first, but there was also something else he couldn't really pinpoint. He tried thinking about it. She was always nagging at him, rambling about his ever increasing debt, complaining he was an idiot, and other similar epithets. And yet, she had just taken his feelings into consideration, which she never did before. Was it that sudden disparity with her usual demeanor towards him that caused this warm, foreign sensation in his chest? Did he feel grateful that she had, for once, listened to what he wanted?

He didn't need to put a name on that strange, fond feeling yet. It was destabilizing enough as it was.

He shot a glance at her, and she was looking at him. Their eyes met, and he felt something in his chest lurch. The look in her eyes, overshadowed by her long eyelashes, struck him as peculiarly intense and resolute. Slightly sad, too. She looked paler than usual in the moonlight. Her lips were slightly parted, and she licked them absentmindedly, not averting her gaze from his. He felt her hand reaching for his own, resting on her hip, and pressing it softly.

A silent plea.

His arm tightened around her waist unconsciously, as the realization that she had already made her mind slowly sank into him. He felt a slight headache creep behind his eyeballs, while his brain was trying to sort through an unusual avalanche of thoughts and emotions. She knew what she wanted, and knew that he knew, but also that he was reluctant to comply, because he was supposed to look out for each member of this crew. Which meant he had to protect them, from themselves if necessary. Who was he protecting here, anyway? She wanted – needed – comfort. He could feel that, even though she hadn't voiced it specifically. Her very actions tonight proved it without a doubt. She had also shown that she respected his reservation about it. Was he protecting her, arbitrarily deciding not to give her what she asked for? Wasn't he making things harder for her?

He was starting to feel sorry for her, and for himself, as he realized there was no easy way out of their current situation. He also felt a bit guilty for not trusting her as much as she, obviously, trusted him.

_Damn, why does it have to be so confusing?_

She was destabilizing him, triggering him into thinking much more about it all than he was used to. It made him feel utterly lost, and he hated it.

_Stop thinking so hard about it and just do something._

It was decided, then.

He slightly pressed her hand back, his eyes still intent on hers. His lips parted, and he lowered his head slowly towards hers, tightening his hold around her waist. He drew his lips to hers cautiously, testing the waters before proceeding further. But she parted her lips, pressing his slightly between them. He obliged instinctively, before he could even think about it, closing his eyes, and losing himself in the foreign sensation of her warm, smooth tongue invading his mouth.

Moments later, he was kissing her a lot more eagerly, his tongue diving into her mouth, fingers intertwined with her ginger hair, pressing her against his chest. Mixed emotions were still lingering in his gut, as well as his doubts, but he let himself fall forward. He wanted to give her whatever she needed, even if it came back to haunt him in the morning.

He also realized he now wanted this, probably as much as she did.

Soon, they were lying on the wooden floor. He was supporting himself on his left forearm, her head resting there, his free hand gliding along her hip and a leg between hers. Said hand soon reached there to brush against her inner thighs. Her skin was smooth, as much as he had thought it would be, on the rare occasions he had let his mind wander in such a risky direction. Her body felt warm against his, and she smelled good – sweet and foreign, undeniably feminine – and she didn't look like she wanted to stop. He felt her whimpering almost helplessly against his mouth when he reached up her shorts. It made him feel wild, his earlier urges vengefully rushing back. His thinking ability overridden by his senses, desire getting more pressing as her hand crept up his shirt, he jerked both her shorts and underwear down, before sliding an almost wavering, yet not-so-tentative finger between her thighs. He felt her legs tensing around his hand as he dived within the wet, velvety place.

It was too late to look back and turn away, now. Not when her small, nimble hand was sneaking under his haramaki, inside his pants, deliciously brushing against his cock, fully erect and ready to go. He heard himself groan faintly against her collarbone, where his tongue was now tracing wet trails, when she slightly pressed it between her slender fingers. She soon proceeded to slide his pants, including his underwear, down his hips. He started grinding against her, and she languorously spread her legs further, submitting too the heating, pressing momentum that was occurring between them. She grabbed him and led him inside with a trembling hand.

He entered her, taking his time, eyes scrunched and eyebrows tightly knitted, savoring the delicious heat and friction as he delved deeper and deeper inside her in slow, successive shallow thrusts. When he was fully buried inside her, he stopped moving and sighed. It had been way too long since the last time he shared that kind of intimacy with anyone, and he didn't trust himself to go on yet. He opened his eyes, and found her looking at him, her gaze unreadable. He surprised himself as he raised a hand to her face and brushed a few stray ginger locks in an unusually tender gesture. When she sneaked a hand around his neck and motioned to bring him closer, he rested his elbows on each side of her head, and leaned down to brush his lips against hers, before kissing her urgently, in a more passionate fashion than earlier.

Maybe he wasn't that bad at comforting people, after all.

He started moving after a moment. She was tight from arousal, smooth, and extremely wet. It felt good, and he realized it had been far too long since he last took the time to relieve his sexual needs, even by himself. He wanted to fasten the pace, but instead, decided he was going to do this slowly, making sure she got what she needed out of it. He wasn't doing this for his own enjoyment, but because she had asked him. He was doing this for her. So, furrowing his eyebrows and trying to keep what little was left from his composure, he leaned down and started kissing her neck, while playing with her left breast with a hand he willed to be as steady as possible. He would be taking his time.

She sneaked her hand in his hair, holding his head tightly against her collarbone, and sighed softly, brushing her lips against his temple. After a few minutes, she ran the other around his hipbone until it reached the small of his back, applying subtle pressure so he would delve deeper within her. The more he kept going, the wetter, the tighter she was getting. He felt shivers of pleasure running along his spine. Did she have any idea of what she was doing to him? There was no way he would last long enough if she started being greedy. He could already feel pressure building down there, and the telltale tensing sensation at the base of his cock. He had to slow down and concentrate not to let things get out of his control.

She seemed to notice, but didn't relent. As he felt the pressure from her hand in his back increase, he stopped moving. Using his palms as support, he straightened himself and breathed slowly, then opened his eyes – he couldn't remember when he first closed them. He saw she was looking at him, eyes half-lidded and mouth slightly parted. She was panting faintly, and she stretched a hand towards his forehead, covered in a slight sheen of sweat, to brush a few short, stray hair.

"Don't move..." She had barely whispered.

The same hand she used to brush away the hair clinging to his forehead went down, reaching between them. Her pants became a little harsher, as she was touching herself, while he was still inside her. His own breath caught in his throat at the incredibly arousing view she offered, disheveled, eyelids fluttering from intense pleasure, and cheeks burning with a fever that had nothing to do with illness. He hadn't had many occasions to hone his knowledge about sex in the past, but he had to admit this was the sexiest, kinkiest thing he had ever witnessed.

Moments later, she started moving her hips in short, erratic moves. Not wasting time pondering about it, he started moving as well. Now even more aroused than he was previously, if that was only possible, he knew he wouldn't last long, and dearly hoped she would come before him, or everything up to now would have been a waste of time and efforts.

As he was doing his best to keep hold of his own tremor, she let out a low, subdued moan. He felt her hand leave the cramped space between them, while the other joined it to grip his ass, raising her hips wildly to meet each of his trusts. He increased the pace and let his forehead rest against her shoulder, now too far gone to keep himself from letting his control slip. He felt her get tighter around him, and tighter, and then even more.

The way her hands were running over his skin, sensitive from all the arousal he felt, the way she was almost whimpering against his neck, biting there to avoid being too loud, it was all too much. The tip of his cock was burning, while a delicious tension was taking hold of his gut. It felt so good he couldn't possibly apprehend anything in around him anymore, but that narrow, tense space where they were connected. And when she finally reached climax, tensing so violently around him he thought his cock would break, he couldn't hold it any longer.

It felt like an endless moment of stillness, like the world around him had disappeared.

He let out a low, muffled groan, as he thrust inside her, muscles in his back and thighs tensing, reaching as deep as he could, once, a couple more times, then a last. Slowly but surely, the world around him came back, little by little, as he got out of his climax-induced daze.

Breathing unevenly, he braced himself on his elbows and slid out of her, shivering as he did from increased sensitivity, before motioning himself so he could let his body fall next to hers. He rested his forehead on his arm, the other still resting around her waist, trying to settle his erratic breathing. After a few seconds, he lifted his now heavy eyelids, tilting his head to his right to look at her. She laid there, on her back, not trying to move yet, lost in her own afterglow, but he could see the tension from before was absent from her features. He soon felt her small hand reaching for his own and squeezing it.

He took it as her way to thank him for what he had done for her.

Falling rapidly in a deep, sated sleep, he barely felt her sit up and reach for the blanket, before covering them both, and nestling herself against him. He wanted to thank her for that considerate gesture, for he had started shivering moments earlier, but couldn't find the energy to get it himself.

Later, as he was asleep, he almost felt the pleasant sensation of fingers brushing his hair, and heard words, faintly whispered in his ears, but he couldn't tell if this was real, or a dream.

***

When he woke up, it was still dark, and he was alone.


	2. The earth is blue like an orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He looked up, only to see Sanji, lighting up and blowing smoke slowly in the wind, looking at the sky.

When his shift ended, Usopp climbing up the mast to take his place in the crow's nest, he was still half asleep, trying to to clear his mind. Usopp eyed him through narrowed eyes, most likely suspecting he had, once again, spent most of his watch sleeping – which, for once, wasn't entirely true. He soon left his crew-mate, heading for the men's quarters, intent on finishing his aborted night comfortably tucked in a hammock.

When he climbed down the mast through the hatch, he could see the inside of the room for a brief moment. The cook was sleeping on the carpet, laying on his side, a hand slid between his knees, breathing quietly. On the couch, Chopper was fast asleep. Looking further inside, he could make out Luffy's outline. After a while, as his eyes got used to the darkness, he saw he had a couple limbs dangling from his hammock, and a leg curled around his pillow, in the faint moonlight. His mouth was open, letting out loud snores.

He could have laughed at their peaceful faces, but merely smiled instead. He didn't want to wake them up.

He closed the hatch, and his feet hit the floor with a muffled thud. He carefully stepped over the cook, careful not to disturb him, and climbed into Usopp's hammock, which was now empty and free to use. Some warmth still lingered on the latter's blanket, which subtly smelt like gunpowder. Sighing faintly, feeling wasted, and yet, strangely secure at the same time, he closed his eyes. He wasted no time falling asleep again, lulled by his friends' snoring.

***

When he opened a somewhat bleary eye, later in the morning, he was alone in the room. He yawned, stretched his arms over his head, and folded them behind his head, looking at the ceiling, taking his time waking up properly. He knew, while at sea, there were only a few chances to do so, and he intended to enjoy this relaxed moment.

He blinked, and something faintly twisted in his gut when the events from the previous night resurfaced in his mind. But the muffled, unnamed feeling didn't last, because he wouldn't let it. What was done was done, he reckoned, but there was no need to think about it further. Even if Nami felt awkward around him for a few days – he surely wouldn't – he knew she would hide it well, being good at putting up a front. And things would soon fall into place.

No regrets about it.

He got up with a start, before raising his arms over his head and making a few bones in his back pop. He then climbed up the mast through the hatch, heading for the galley.

The shit-cook was there, just about to start with lunch preparations, which meant it was about ten thirty, more or less. He glanced sideways as Zoro walked towards the sink, reaching for a tankard that was drying there, freshly washed.

"Good morning, shit-head." He muttered around his usual cigarette, pressed on the corner of his mouth. "Had sweet dreams?"

"Huh?" Zoro replied, maybe a tad more amiably than usual.

"You've got that awfully smug smile plastered on your face." He made a face. "It's kinda gross-looking, actually."

Zoro realized after a slightly befuddled moment that the damn cook was right. He _was_ smirking. He also noticed idly that the cook's tone was neutral. That was weird, because he usually pestered anyone who skipped a meal to no end.

He couldn't help but grunt somewhat derogatorily as he was filling his tankard to the brim with fresh water. If only the ero-cook knew _he_ had gotten to screw his beloved Nami-swan mere hours ago, he'd be so jealous he'd start wailing in disgust. Before trying to kick his ass. Well, he was certainly not going to tell him. When he turned back to the cook, he made sure his smile was gone.

"Whatever."

He went out on the deck, and sat down, resting his back against the galley's wall. He started drinking his water in long, greedy gulps, as he was quite thirsty since he had woken up. He surveyed the deck, and saw a busy Usopp, sitting on the front section, while Luffy and Chopper were sitting nearby, watching him work. Robin came out from the storage room, her hair still wet from the shower she had apparently just taken. Luffy called out to her, and after exchanging a few words, she joined the boys on the front deck, but Zoro couldn't hear what they were talking about. He looked up. Even though there were a few fast moving clouds, propelled by a strong breeze, he could see the blue sky in-between.

He relaxed against the wooden wall, sipping absentmindedly on his water tankard, effectively letting the rush of wind against his ears annihilate any sound his crew-mates might be making, aside from the cook's whistling. He could hear it from the galley's open door. It was the only thing he could hear, and despite the fact he was butchering the tune, it felt peaceful.

Between two particularly strong gusts of winds, he could hear a light voice, joining the cook's pathetic attempt at whistling, before being engulfed in the noisy breeze again. With this, he finally recognized the song – _Bink's sake_ , obviously – and grunted scornfully at Sanji's ability to turn any song into not-so-melodic vomit. The guy was practically tone-deaf.

Zoro was feeling at peace with the world, today, and strangely content.

A black shoe suddenly intruded into the peaceful view before his eyes, startling him. He didn't see it coming, though he trusted nothing in his composure indicated so. Fortunately, that shoe stopped a mere inch away from his face. He relaxed imperceptibly when it fell back to the ground, soon replaced by a plate holding a few toasts covered in what smelled like apple jam.

"You're really out of it, today, marimo. You didn't even see me coming. But consider yourself lucky, because I'm in a good mood."

He looked up, only to see Sanji, lighting up and blowing smoke slowly in the wind, looking at the sky.

"Such a nice day." Eyes as blue as that very sky over them fell on him when he silently grabbed the plate. His face was unreadable. "Lunch won't be ready for another two hours or so. Enjoy your treat."

And with this, the cook went back to the galley.

After staring at them for a while, Zoro seized one of the bread slices, and bit a large chunk. The jam's flavor was strong, and the bread was buttery. He couldn't believe the shit-cook made these for him. Not that the snack was unusual, since that sucker was intent on never leaving anyone on board with an empty stomach alone, but he had taken the time to spread butter and jam over the toasts. What the hell did he do to deserve such a delicate attention? He briefly wondered if Nami had said or done something to trigger this unusual behavior – the cook was so easy to manipulate, as long as you had a pair of boobs and a skirt. He discarded that thought. He doubted that the way she treated him would've changed just because of what happened. It was only physical comfort, and a one time thing. Certainly not enough that she would make sure the cook was nice to him.

He shook his head, and soon stopped thinking about it altogether. It was a waste of time.

After wolfing down his treat, before the cook could change his mind – he said he was in a good mood, _but who knows, with that temperamental asshole?_ – he decided it was time to train. He got up, went down the lower deck, and, discarding his shirt in a swift motion, started doing push-ups on one arm, switching to the other after some time. When he felt he had sufficiently warmed-up, he grabbed his weights and started to count.

_One – two – three..._

Robin passed him a few minutes later, a book in her hand, headed for what was probably the tangerine orchard. He followed her absentmindedly with his eyes, never stopping his weight-lifting, as she walked up the stairs and disappeared behind the foliage.

_Two thousand seven hundreds sixty four – two thousand seven hundreds sixty five..._

Nami was up there as well, standing on a small pliable ladder and tending to her trees, plucking ripe fruits from the branches and dropping them in a basket at her feet. He couldn't hear from where he was, but she seemed to be talking, to Robin, maybe – or maybe she was still singing that same song from earlier.

The sun was getting higher, and the air, slightly warmer.

When he reached six thousands, he laid his weights on the wooden floor and, deciding to stop there for now, looked up at the sky. From the sun's position in the sky, it couldn't be past noon yet. The cook wouldn't be calling them for lunch right away, and he might be able to take a short nap before then.

He got up, grabbed his discarded shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his face, before sliding it over his head. He would take a shower later. Looking at the front deck, where his captain and the little reindeer were now running after each other in circles around a slightly aggravated-looking Usopp, he decided against going there. His nap would be short, and he needed a quiet place.

He headed for the stern and was soon sitting against the railing, not far from the small trees. He closed his eyes and started relaxing. Despite the wind, rushing strong against his ears, he could still make out Nami's singing, as well as the faint sound of her shears, as she was harvesting more tangerines. The sound wasn't intrusive, and he found himself dozing off quickly, lulled to sleep by the soft sound of her voice.

Zoro usually dreamt a lot when he slept, and would recall his dreams with much clarity. Chopper, who was more versed in this field than any of their crew-mates, would have told him that he could remember so well because his sleep was fractured, short, which meant he could reach the REM phase quicker than an individual with regular sleeping habits. But Zoro never wondered about it, so he didn't ask.

When he woke up, feeling like he had slept for hours, he first had trouble remembering where he was. There had been streets. An endless maze of streets, surrounded by tall buildings. And now, he was sitting by the stern, leaning against the ship's wooden railing. He rubbed his eyes wearily, trying to clear his mind. He had been running after... something? Someone, maybe? But, unable to find the way back, he'd gotten lost. The further he had gone, the more building had turned into... he absentmindedly glanced up at the small tangerine grove. Trees. The buildings had turned into trees.

Whatever.

He looked up at the sky. The weather hadn't changed much, aside from the fact clouds were much scarcer than before. It was sunny, and a tad warmer. He rubbed his eyes again, and shook his head. The wind rushing against his ears made him feel dizzy, and he couldn't make out a sound. How long had he slept?

His eyes fell on the orchard again as Nami came out from behind the trees, a basket full of ripe fruits under her arm, still humming that tune from before. Her eyes were unfocused, and she looked lost in some kind of reverie of her own. She absentmindedly looked in his direction, and smiled. He had the feeling she wasn't seeing him, lost like she was in her thoughts. She soon went down the stairs, and disappeared from his view.

***

Later, that night, he was laying on his back in the men's quarters, his arms folded behind his head. His eyes were fixated on the cabin's hatch, watching the night sky. Luffy's loud snores could be heard throughout the room, as well as Usopp's quieter wheezing – only the cook was silent when sleeping, and Chopper was on watch duty. He could feel the floor's hard wood through the rug, and even though the day had been barely warm, the night was far from cold. The air in the cabin was uncomfortably hot and stuffy, despite the open hatch.

However, none of these inconveniences prevented him from slumbering peacefully. They never did before, and he wasn't one to strive for physical comfort.

Still, tonight, he found himself unable to sleep, thoughts whirling in his mind restlessly.

Today had been a weird day. He had spent it in some kind of strange, foreign haze that felt like an extended afterglow, and he didn't know if he liked or hated it. He made sure he didn't dwell on what happened between Nami and him the previous night, and it appeared she did the same. Her behavior around him hadn't changed. She didn't seem to feel uneasy around him, nor did she try avoiding him – which would be useless anyway, on such a small ship. She wasn't nicer to him either, and even threatened to charge him for some irrelevant things, as usual. As for him, he did his best to be his usual grumpy self, and generally didn't listen much to whatever she rambled about. He definitely didn't feel awkward about the whole thing.

And yet, he could tell there was a change. The quality of the air between them seemed different. He didn't really know what to make of it.

And the cook... He was a bit reluctant to admit it, but that foolish idiot had actually been nice to him, today. It was so strange that he couldn't even start finding words to describe how it made him feel. First, there had been the toasts. Then, when he came to the galley for lunch, he realized that the shitty cook had prepared his favorite dishes. He tended to the girls as usual, serving them the best pieces and making a fool of himself. But every once in a while, he could feel the cook's gaze on him. He wondered if he had felt that something had changed between him and Nami. Zoro wouldn't have been that surprised. The guy had a radar for anything related to his beloved female crew-mates.

But there was no way he could have guessed, because if he did, he wouldn't be so nice to him. No, he'd definitely over-react, and carve his skull into the deck's floor thanks to these deadly kicks of his. Or try to do so. It wasn't like Zoro would let him, anyway.

But what was with the shit-cook?

He tilted his head backwards and watched the two of his crew-mates sleeping in the hammocks. Usopp was the nearest, sleeping quietly, aside from the indecent wheezy noise coming from his nose. His arm was curled around his pillow, his hand clenched in the cotton fabric of the pillowcase. Further back in the room, Luffy was sprawled out in his own hammock, limbs once again dangling from all sides. As Zoro surveyed his outline, he jerked in his sleep, before turning around, mumbling random syllables without definite meaning. He could now see his face in the pale moonlight, and he noticed his captain was drooling.

He shifted, turning towards the cook, who was laying on the rug beside him. He was curled up on his side, his face away from Zoro, and he could make out his slowly heaving chest in the faint light. Before he could even realize what he was doing, he sat up, and leaned over the sleeping cook. He tried peaking at his face, but his hair was a bit ruffled on the side, a few strands of hair unusually sticking out, probably because he slept on it earlier. Zoro stretched a cautious hand and brushed away a few stray locks blocking his view of the sleeping cook's face, careful not to wake him up.

By daylight, the cook's face was always a messy display of raw emotions. Annoyance directed at the guys. Disgustingly submissive adoration for the girls. Calm fury to anyone who'd mistreat a lady, quickly followed by anger – these would be directed at Zoro himself, most of the time. The only time the fucker's face sported any kind of mask was when his gruff surrogate father was mentioned, but if it was inspired by respect or some other, more complex feeling, Zoro didn't know, nor did he really want to – it just wasn't his business. And there was, of course, that stupid, overly enthusiastic, boyish grin that surfaced every time someone mentioned All Blue. He also remembered a couple of times when the cook's face reflected something that looked like expectation, as well – every time, that was while they were throwing insults at each other, before starting a fight. He had always envied the way the cook was able to let out his emotions comfortably, whatever they were, and without even thinking about it. Zoro couldn't imagine himself doing the same.

But of course, he wouldn't even admit that much.

Right now, the shitty cook looked peaceful, his face relaxed in his sleep, and he was quietly breathing through slightly parted lips.

And yet, despite the fact most of the cook's expressions were easily readable, he still couldn't make out what today's thoughtful looks meant. There was questioning in those eyes, he realized, but that was pretty much it. Whatever the nature of such questioning was left him completely mystified.

The cook started stirring in his sleep, and Zoro was prompt to remove his hand, which had been left hovering near the other's face, after brushing his hair away. For a moment, he thought the shitty cook would wake up and ask him what the fuck he was doing. But he soon stopped moving again, resuming his deep, comfortable slumber. Which was for the best : Zoro didn't have an answer to that question, aside from the obvious. _I'm looking at you while you sleep, cook._ Definitely creepy.

He shook his head, giving up on sleeping for now. He raised to his feet, and after stepping over the sleeping cook's figure, started climbing up the ladder and exited the room through the hatch. If he was going to have to deal with insomnia tonight, he might as well not waste this time rolling around on the floor, looking at his sleeping crew-mates. Maybe some booze and fresh air would help him fall asleep, anyway.

A few minutes later, he was sitting among the tangerine trees, a bottle of cheap sake in his hand, which he had grabbed from the cook's stock. That dumb-ass would notice it was missing, when he'd survey the bottles rack in the morning. And of course, he'd get hell from his temperamental crew-mate. But he'd deal with that then. For now, he was going to enjoy the surrounding quietness.

He soon finished his bottle, and laid down in the grass. The small trees' branches were swinging in the warm breeze, and he could see a few stars in-between the foliage. Such a perfect time to sleep out in the open. Feeling a little better, at peace with himself, he closed his eyes and rapidly dozed off.

***

This time, he dreamt of Nami.

He was back to the previous day, sitting against the railing near the orchard. Nami was wearing Luffy's hat, and a white, slightly transparent sun-dress that didn't leave much to the imagination, bathed as she was in the blindingly bright afternoon light. The wind was stronger than before, and through the rushing sound against his ears, all he could hear was her light, glistening laughter.

The cook was there as well, and he was talking to her. Zoro couldn't hear a word, but somehow, with that mind clarity that dreams sometimes give rise to, he knew they were talking about him. Nami closed her eyes, and stretched her arms over her head, enjoying the warmth of the sun. At that, the cook turn towards him, and he felt pierced by the gaze set on him, blue and bright like a resounding summer sky. He was smiling, that same toothy grin he generally saved for either the girls, or his foolish dreams. Cocking a curly eyebrow, he told him something that, once again, he couldn't hear. He wanted to answer, but when he opened his mouth to do so, he found himself unable to produce a single sound. The wind was getting stronger.

When he didn't reply, a slight feeling of frustration mirrored on the cook's face. He turned away from Nami, still laughing behind him, and advanced towards Zoro, who suddenly felt like running away. But his body wouldn't move. He watched the cook as he walked, soon reaching the place where he was sitting against the wooden railing. Once there, he took a long drag on the cigarette that was dangling from the corner of his mouth, and slowly exhaled the smoke. It swirled and twirled in the sunlight. When he looked down, his eyes intent on him, the cook had a lazy, slightly smug smile on his lips. There was a challenge in his eyes, though Zoro didn't know of its nature.

The cook started opening his mouth. _Don't._ Suddenly, it was tremendously important that the shit-cook didn't say a word, whatever he was about to tell him. He felt himself chocking, unable to breath under the sudden pressure. _Stop. Don't say it!_ The cook licked his lips. _Will you stop, you fucking fool! DON'T SAY IT!_ But he was still unable to talk, and couldn't prevent that idiot from speaking. It felt like it was bound to happen, and Zoro knew with an uncanny sense of dread that it would mean the end for everything.

And, after what felt like centuries, the cook finally spoke, his raspy voice a mere whisper, drowned in the wind's noise.

"Is that so, Zoro?"

A soft cry resounded behind him, and Nami's face was suddenly overcome with distress. Zoro saw Luffy's hat, blown away by the wind, golden straw flying against the bright blue of the sky, that blue that reminded him of the cook's eyes.


	3. Only a brave man can break through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was no fight he could win.

Things would have been simple, if it weren't for the strange dream he had on that warm night, while he was sleeping in the tangerine orchard to escape the cabin's stifling heat. Zoro knows it well, because he had more than enough time to think about it since then, to pinpoint the moment when things turned askew. But what's done is done, as they say, and he's not one to dwell on the past.

So, he tries not to, even if sometimes he can't really help it, perhaps because it weights on him a little more than he would like to admit.

***

Following that night, the unusual daze that had taken hold of him started to gradually yet positively fade. It helped that Nami's demeanor towards him never changed, from the beginning of it all. It also helped that, after a few days, the cook had resumed his usual behavior. That is, for the most part.

Occasionally, he still felt his skin prickle at the base of his neck, the same kind of feeling one gets when being watched from afar. When it happened, he turned his head towards the source of his uneasiness, and found himself returning the shit-cook's pondering gaze. As soon as the guy realized he was discovered, he averted his eyes, shaking his head slowly, as if disappointed in himself for being caught, and went on his way.

These instances grew scarcer with time, and a few days later, the shitty cook resumed being his shitty self, bickering about anything and everything. But Zoro didn't really mind. He had gotten used to it after some time, and he viewed their perpetual clashing as a welcome diversion from routine. Even if it was part of it. And maybe because it was, it felt somewhat comfortable, something he could rely on when everything else went awry. Somehow.

And surely, they did get awry every once in a while, if not more than often enough.

Some time later, as the Straw-hat crew was traveling towards their next destination, they neared an island on which an important marine base was seated. Said island wasn't on their route, fortunately, so they avoided stopping there. However, it didn't prevent them from having to cross the waters in its vicinity. Nami was positive about it : there was no other way available. So, they went, encountering an unusual amount of marine ships along the way, which was to be expected.

The next couple of days was a struggle for the whole crew. Those Marine ships didn't carry many high-ranked officers on their board, and it was easy getting rid of them. But they kept coming, not even stopping during night time. When they finally got out of the danger zone, the whole crew was exhausted. They had all sustained minor injuries as well. Chopper ordered them all to get as much rest as they could now that they were in a safer area.

Zoro felt very frustrated. As far as he was concerned, a fight was always a welcome distraction. However, fighting non-stop for two days had taken its toll on him, as it did for each of his crew-mates. Those pathetic marines weren't even worth the exhaustion. And now, he was forced by an infuriated Chopper to rest, even though he only got scratched. Well, not counting the large gash on his left leg, which had bled quite a lot. That, and a nasty-looking bruise around his ribs, though that was the shit cook's doing, anyway – a result of their perpetual squabbling, and there was no external bleeding. But heh, he had suffered worse, and it never prevented him from training.

Nevertheless, the little doctor had been very explicit about the fact he wasn't to train for the next few days, or bear the consequences. He knew perfectly Chopper would carry out his threat, and since he had quite the chemical arsenal at his disposition, he didn't dare brave his fury. He didn't put it past their doctor to stick a tranquilizer loaded syringe in his ass while he was napping, and even though he believed himself wary enough to see it coming, he didn't really want to find out.

Thus, Zoro was frustrated, and very bored. Fortunately, Chopper never said anything about booze, and the swordsman found himself indulging in his sole physical vice often, when he wasn't napping. And he napped a lot. There was nothing else to do.

That's probably why, when his turn came to be on watch duty, after the second day of forced rest, he found himself perfectly awake. The night was calm. All his crew-mates were in bed now, aside from the shit-cook. Leaning on the railing and surveying the quiet ship, Zoro could see the light through the small, round hatch in the galley's door. Whatever that idiot was doing this late, Zoro had no idea. Most likely making early preparations for the following day's breakfast.

Of course, that didn't help his situation. He intended to sneak into the kitchen to snatch a bottle or two as soon as possible – damn, he was so bored – and with the shitty cook nearby, it would prove difficult to get any. He sighed. On the other hand, if he showed up in the galley while curly-brows was still there, he might gain from it. He could always try starting a fight with the irritating idiot. He found himself smirking at the idea of a good brawl.

He went down the mast, up the stairs, and opened the galley's door without knocking. He knew the cook hated his so-called lack of manners, although, according to Zoro, all that nit-picking – especially around girls – was just a waste of time and energy, nothing more. He stepped into the room, but soon stopped when he saw the cook, sitting at the diner table, staring absentmindedly at the glass of wine in his hand.

An eery feeling slowly crept into him, as he watched the oblivious cook, listlessly stirring the wine in his glass, elbows on the table, his head resting in his hand. He looked quite bored, and Zoro couldn't help but feel slightly sidetracked at the thought that his fussy crew-mate's reaction to boredom had been the same as his : alcohol.

Thinking about it reminded him what his initial goal was, and he started towards the bottle rack. And, if the cook hadn't noticed him prior to this, the sidewards glance the idiot threw him was proof enough that he now had.

"Oh, marimo. I was starting to wonder if you'd finally show up."

Zoro didn't reply right away, apparently surveying the rack for an appropriate late-night treat. The truth was that he didn't really know how to respond to that. Was that some new kind of taunting? After a few seconds, he decided against replying altogether, and focused on his current task : ransacking the cook's alcohol supply.

However, he didn't have time to decide which bottles would accompany his lonely watch shift tonight, for after a short while, the cook spoke again.

"Third row, two first bottles. That's what you're looking for."

Without thinking, he reached for one of said bottles and grabbed it from the rack. He froze when he read the label. That bottle was sake they had gotten weeks ago from a small island known for its first-rate breweries. The cook had hidden the few precious bottles they had gotten there, and Zoro hadn't been able to get his hands on any of the stuff, even though he tried on several occasions. And now, that asshole was literally handing him two of these? What the fuck?

He turned around slowly and eyed the other suspiciously through narrowed eyes. The shitty cook wasn't even looking at him, instead staring at the wine twirling in his glass. This behavior was so unusual that it leaved him more confused than he'd like to admit, even to himself. He had expected aggravation, resistance, and maybe a fight, or at least, some pouncing here and there. And there he was, quality beverages bestowed upon him with blatant indifference. What was wrong with the damn cook?

"Hey, what..." He started, before closing his mouth.

He wanted to ask his crew-mate what was up with him, but what kind of answer did he expect, anyway? Most of the time, he didn't understand the ero-cook. They were so different, so foreign to each other, despite being nakama, that he couldn't figure out what was going on into the other's mind. Well, there was still fighting. He could understand that part of the cook's persona, and was even ready to admit that they were somewhat similar in that field – whether they were fighting enemies or each other.

But fighting was simple, and so was Zoro. Or at least, he tried to be. He didn't wish to live a complex life. Not when he had seen so many people willingly making their own so complicated, and reaping what they had sown. And the cook was one of these people. He loved making things complicated.

Zoro had the nagging feeling that, if he were to get an answer to his question from the cook, his life would get more complicated than he wanted it to be.

The shitty cook slowly turned towards Zoro, and a smirk appeared on his thin lips.

"What's wrong, idiot marimo? Wanna join me? I'd gladly welcome the attention, but you know, the ship's not gonna watch itself."

With that cutting remark, Zoro felt an anxiety he hadn't noticed he had felt until now easing slightly. That was a taunt. Something familiar. That, he could manage. And after all, he had come here willing to start a fight, didn't he?

"What, feeling lonely, shit cook? Want me to hold your hand? And listen to you ranting about how the witch will never return your affections?" He grabbed the second sake bottle, and headed for the door, expecting a witty retort.

"Shitty swordsman." He heard Sanji sigh through clenched teeth, his voice lacking the intense fury such a comment on the ship's navigator would usually arouse in him. "She doesn't deserve such harsh words, and you know it."

Zoro stopped at this uneventful retort. He turned back, and stared a little longer at the man sitting in the kitchen. What was it all about? Did anything of what had happened transpired? Did he find out? But, as he was looking more intently, he realized how flustered the cook looked. His head was resting in his hand, as if too heavy for him to hold upright, and his eyes were slightly drooping, making him look tired. There was a faint pink hue on his cheeks that could have been easy to miss, if it weren't for his fair complexion. He also noticed that the wine bottle on the table was nearly empty, and almost smirked at that. It explained the lack of genuine antagonism on the cook's part. That idiot couldn't hold his alcohol.

Nothing to worry about.

He snorted. "Yeah. Whatever."

And with that, he left.

***

An hour later, Zoro was sitting in the crow's nest. An empty bottle was resting on the floor, and its mate was in his hand, tasty content following its predecessor's way down his throat. At that point, he was starting to think he should thank the shitty cook for this unexpected present. Damn, that stuff was good. And potent. He rarely got drunk, having developed a strong resistance to alcoholic beverages over time, and even if he was now merely feeling slightly tipsy, it was a welcome change.

And surely, there was still light in the galley, meaning the cook wasn't in bed yet, and unless the idiot had fallen asleep on the table, he was still awake. And probably quite drunk, too. But Zoro didn't want to move from his spot right now, nor did he want to face the drunken asshole. He was actually thinking of trying to take a nap, despite the fact he was supposed to watch the surrounding waters – and the fact he wasn't tired at all. He slowly let himself slide against the wooden railing, until he was laying on the floor. Things had been so quiet since they had left the last island's area, that he wasn't too worried about an attack at this time, anyway.

As these thoughts crossed his mind, he heard light footsteps on the deck. He could have leaned over the railing to try and figure out who that was, but he knew it would be useless. It was way too dark. And, honestly, he didn't have a reason to care about it, knowing it was only one of his crew-mates. He didn't move any more when the steps stopped at the mast's bottom, or when he heard the rope ladder earnestly starting to creak, as the unexpected visitor climbed it up.

He wasn't really surprised, or maybe the truth was he shouldn't have been. That was what he thought when the faint light from the moon crescent above revealed, at first, a mass of red hair, peaking over the railing. He couldn't make out her face, in the subdued moonlight, but she stopped moving as he came to her view. He waited for her to speak, feeling the muscles in his back steadily stiffening as the silence between them stretched in the night. After a moment, she spoke.

"Hey."

As usual, a muffled grunt was his only answer.

After a while, she started moving again, stepping over the railing somehow gracefully. Somehow, because as she was now in plain view, he could see she was barefoot, and only wearing a short, yet much too large shirt, revealing her slender legs. He briefly wondered, in his alcohol-induced daze if it was one of the ero-cook's. She was soon sitting down next to him, her back against the mast, facing in his direction. He shot her a quick glance, and noticed nervously that, in their current positions, her panties were in plain view. If she realized, she didn't seem to mind. He averted his eyes.

"I didn't expect to find you awake." She said.

He didn't dare looking at her for now. He had to repress a slight feeling of edginess, slowly growing as she sat next to him, her bare feet mere inches from his elbow. He looked up at the night sky, focusing on the stars, trying to stop the unnecessary thoughts that started forming at the edge of his consciousness.

A few seconds later, she chuckled lightly.

"You know, you could at least reply properly when I'm talking to you."

She nudged his arm lightly with a small, bare foot, and he had to repress a shiver. Somehow, her touch had the pressure in his blood shifting subtly. Was it because of the alcohol he had earlier? This wasn't looking good at all. He sat up a bit to gulp down the last drops from the bottle in his hand, realizing as he was doing so that if being tipsy was causing him to feel awkward, drinking more wasn't the best way out. He laid back, and cleared his throat before replying, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Yeah. Whatever."

She didn't reply right away, but after a while, he could hear her sigh faintly. Unable to repress a faint hint of puzzlement, yet not willing her to notice, he tilted his head so he could look at her face. She was sporting an unreadable smile. She didn't look sad, not really, yet, it wasn't a happy smile either. After pondering about it for a moment, Zoro decided it looked a bit wistful. His gaze traveled back to the sky, his hand playing with the empty bottle by his side.

"Why..."

He stopped himself from speaking further, as he had done previously, while facing the cook. He knew asking why she was there was a bad idea, especially when he didn't think he'd like her answer. Of course, he wondered about it, but he realized he had a very good idea of what was in her mind, and he didn't want it to be formulated by either of them. After all, maybe she was, just like him, unable to sleep. But maybe she was, once again, looking for _physical comfort_. Did she hope he would initiate such intimacy again? He cringed inwardly. Did _he_ hope she would? He didn't know. All that he knew was that he shouldn't want that, because it had been a one time thing. If it ever happened again, it would make things complicated. Which was exactly what he had been trying to avoid from the start.

He didn't know what to do about that look she had on her face. He didn't want to know.

He closed his eyes, and slightly shook his head to clear his mind. He realized very well that his current thoughts proved things were already complicated. Maybe this whole affair had been a mistake, after all.

He was thrown out of his thoughts as she shifted, letting herself fall on her back next to him, an arm over her head, on the same level as his knees.

"You're hopeless." She sighed again.

She turned on her side, slid an arm around his thigh, and rested her forehead against his knee. He stiffened when she did so, and failed to relax when she didn't move further. It wasn't that bad, he thought, if this kind of mild comfort was all she was after. It shouldn't be, even though physical contact, outside of fighting, generally made him uneasy. And yet, her being so physically close affected him more than he'd like to admit. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was just that.

As these thoughts were filling his mind, she started stroking his inner thigh, rendered sensitive by his imposed restraint, with her thumb. It wasn't much, and the gesture might have started as innocent – though, this was Nami, shrewd and inventive, so he couldn't be sure – but his body soon responded to the soft, light touch. He didn't dare move, slightly pursing his lips in a thin line as he fought against the unwanted desire. She was barely touching him, for fuck's sake. He shouldn't be reacting intensely like that. He cursed inwardly at his lack of willpower, of strength, of control, as her finger slowly traced up and down his thigh. He wasn't a fucking virgin anymore, dammit. And yet, he was already hard, just with that.

If Zoro was very apt at discarding what he chose to ignore for his personal comfort, he was also good at admitting things to himself, even when they were unsettling. He knew the alcohol wasn't to blame, not entirely. If he was going to be honest with himself, better start right now. Ok, so he wanted more of what they had shared, a few nights ago. And it wasn't that surprising. He trained his body intensively, of course, intent on having perfect control over himself, even when in intense physical pain. But all he ever learned was pushing his limits, and that was only useful as far as fighting went. Restraining himself from feeling good was never part of his training. Furthermore, it proved especially difficult for him, used as he was to rely on instinct.

And sex was a very instinctive, natural thing, after all. He should have known it would come to this. Obviously, it had been good. He had liked it, his body wanted more of it, _quod erat demonstrandum_. He now realized that, facing his body's wants, he was as weak as any other man. He wondered briefly if he could train himself out of this, but honestly, he doubted he could.

And now, his body was winning the fight against his reason. He wanted to tell her that she should stop. That it wasn't a good idea. That he didn't trust himself with handling the whole thing anymore. He parted his lips, but no sound came out. He was as unable to voice his worries as he had been in that dream, unable to find words to voice his concern. And then, she reached for his hand, and held it tightly, caressing his palm with a slender, nimble finger. If it was hard enough fighting physical urges, playing on the emotional side on top of everything else was tremendously unfair.

Shit. This was no fight he could win. Not like that.

He sat up abruptly, and releasing his leg from her embrace, and turned away from her. His elbows resting on his legs, he supported his forehead on the palm of his hands, looking at the floor between his legs without seeing it. He slightly shook his head, breathing deeply, and trying to clear his mind. He didn't want to push her away, but he _needed_ to. Why didn't she understand that? He heard her shuffling behind him, but didn't turn back.

"What's wrong?" She asked, and he could feel concern in her voice.

So unfair.

Breathing deeply, he opened his mouth, willing to voice his apprehension, but once again not knowing how to do so. He knew he was bad with words, and he didn't want to hurt her. He slowly released a deep sigh.

"Why are you..." He paused. "Why is this so..." He never finished his sentence either, unable to find the right words.

She was now kneeling at his side, leaning towards him, and she put a light hand on his arm.

"So what? So confusing? Complicated?" She pressed his arm slightly tighter. He didn't look at her, but her voice was soft, almost a whisper. "Things only get that way because we let them."

She released the grip on his arm, and sat back on her heels. He looked up when she sighed. She was looking at her hands, resting in her lap, her delicate face reflecting her frustration.

So tremendously unfair.

"You know, you should stop being so hard on yourself."

He didn't really get what she meant with that, so he kept looking at her, searching for an answer in her features. He eyes were obscured by her ginger bangs, falling on her face like a lithe curtain. He stretched an arm, and brushed her hair away with a couple fingers, surprising himself with this unexpectedly tender gesture.

He cleared his throat. "Do you regret it?" He had spoken quickly, before words once again escaped him.

"No. Should I?" She looked up, waiting for his answer.

He let his hand fall on the grass, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply, before replying. "No."

An utter defeat.

He let himself fall on his back, keeping his eyes closed. He was feeling so tired, all of a sudden. Yet, he didn't have much time to dwell on it further.

He felt her moving, and the next thing he knew, she was straddling him. He opened his eyes, and looked intently at her. She didn't say anything. She had her back towards the moon crescent, so he couldn't make out her features, but he knew what she was thinking. She adjusted her position on him. He'd been hard for a while at that point, and, now feeling overwhelmed by desire, he didn't feel like pushing her away anymore. He didn't stop his hands from creeping up her exposed thighs, under her soft cotton night shirt – from the quality of the fabric, he could tell this was definitely the cook's – _oh shit_.

"What... Wait!" He whispered urgently. "Look, you... I..." He slightly raised his head as she slid her hands over his chest, until they were resting on his shoulders. "Wait..." She bent over him and brushed his lips with her own, and before he knew it, he was leaning into the kiss. Still, he managed to find the will and strength to break it after a few seconds. "This is a bad idea." He swallowed nervously and averted his eyes. "The cook's still awake."

She slightly leaned back, her weight shifting, creating uncomfortable pressure on his already straining cock. He could almost feel the smirk on her lips before she spoke.

"So...?"

Her hair was obscuring her face, and she sent it flying in her back with a swift jerk of her head. The sudden movement had her whole body subtly shifting, grinding on him as a side effect, which effectively shut him up. He closed his eyes, his lips reduced to a thin line as he focused on keeping his composure. Whatever was going to happen, now he finally admitted defeat, it couldn't happen now. When he opened them again, he had a better view of her face, and could see she was eying him intently.

"Don't you think it makes things more interesting?" Her smile widened.

Seconds later, she was leaning over him, her breasts pressing against his chest, her lips brushing his ear, making his earrings chime in the night.

"But I'll stop, if you want me to."

He shivered at the sensation of her warm breath against his neck. Despite the fact she was basically giving him a choice, from his perspective, there was not much to choose. Not when she was slowly moving her hips against his. Not when her small, wet tongue was tracing wet patterns on the sensitive skin behind his ear. He was already hard as a rock, and if she didn't do something about _that_ , he was going to explode. In one way or another.

He leaned forward, and ran a hand up her back, curling it in the hair falling on her neck. Tilting her head, he went for her mouth, hungrily pressing her plump lips between his own, before sliding his tongue between them. He wanted her so badly that his last reservation about doing this with her, as the cook was a mere twenty feet away, in the galley, went down the drain, overwhelmed with the raw feeling of _need_.

His free hand, still resting on her thigh, slid up to her panties – cotton, again, which was perfectly ok. He had never been tremendously fond of skimpy lace undergarments, anyway, preferring the softness of natural fabrics. He slid two fingers under the thin material, and started teasing the sensitive area, eliciting soft sighs from her. She was extremely wet, and shivering from arousal, already. In the back of his mind, he wondered how long she had been feeling this way, before coming to him.

Before he realized what she was doing, she was leaning back, breaking the kiss in the same motion. Not wasting a second, she yanked his haramaki upwards, opened his pants, and pulled at his underwear's waistband. He braced himself on his feet, slightly raising his hips so she could jerk his clothing down, but she didn't even bother pulling them all the way down, stopping as soon as his cock was out. She grabbed it in her hand, and, using the other to hold her panties out of the way, she let positioned herself and slid down his length.

If Zoro was slightly amazed at being the cause for such unrestrained desire, he was unable to mull over the idea. The way her actions spoke of urgency was no deception, to say the least. She was clearly very aroused, which the way he slid effortlessly into her, over and over, attested. She was clenching around him, already whimpering soundlessly, her mouth against his collarbone. Overwhelmed by such an earnest passion, he could only surrender, letting her take control. It made him feel vulnerable. He had always been the one in charge, on the few occasions he had experienced the pleasures of flesh. And yet, as she was mercilessly, thoroughly, rapidly bringing them both towards climax, he couldn't help feeling strangely exhilarated.

_This was good – so good, and she was so tight, and the whole length of his cock was ablaze, and she was –_

He felt her slow down, her body shaking violently in her orgasm's onset. But he was so close himself, he wouldn't, couldn't let her do that. He braced himself on his feet, grabbed her ass, and started thrusting deep into her. Her fingers delved into his shoulders, her lips shut tight as she obviously refrained from crying out loud. She tensed tremendously around him, and he felt her whole body stiffen as she pressed herself against him, gasping against his neck, finally reaching an eagerly awaited orgasm. He had to prevent himself to moan loudly at the sensation of her firm body squirming against his, warm breath against his sensitive skin, and the incredible tightness around his cock. Nevertheless, he went on thrusting into her, his balls tensing and his eyebrows knitted in a blissful expression.

He reached his own climax merely seconds after her, and it was so good, so intense the whole world went black. Later, when he was able to think it over, he begrudgingly admitted to himself that he might have passed out, at that point.

When he came to, she was sill straddling him, breathing deeply, trying to recover what little composure she could. He absentmindedly sneaked his arms in her back, holding her tight. One of his hands went to cup the back of her head, fingers intertwining in her ginger locks, and he kissed her hair softly, in a rare display of tenderness. He could feel her smile against his neck, a strangely wet smile. When she leaned back to kiss him, he felt more than he saw her tears.

He brushed his thumb on her cheek, his eyebrows slightly furrowing in disarray.

"What..."

He fell silent when she shook her head and leaned to kiss him again, her arms around his neck. When she pulled back, she sighed.

"It was just that good."

She motioned to remove herself from him. Zoro thought she would settle down next to him, but instead, she got up, and stretched her arms over her head. She then turned back and threw him a long glance. He supported himself on his elbows to look at her.

"Next time..." She paused.

At these words, something lurched into his gut. Next time? Did she plan to do this again? And did he still hope she would, right after the mind-blowing completion she just brought them both to? He gulped, a tad nervously, realizing that, indeed, he did hope so.

"...Let's do it properly."

She smiled at him, stepped over the railing, and then she was gone.

He fell on his back, and raised a hand to brush his hair back. Next time? _Next time!_ When did things become even more complicated? He sighed, realizing that, after what just happened, after what was the best sex in his short adult life, he didn't mind at all. It was crazy. _He_ was crazy.

Strangely enough, that night, Zoro found himself unable to sleep.


	4. A stone cold feeling inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How girls could be so enthralled by shopping and clothes, he would never understand.

They were standing in the tangerine orchard, at night. Her body was pressed against his, hands and mouth brushing against his bare skin. He felt overwhelmed with conflicting emotions and very pleasant physical sensations. She gradually got on her knees, kissing and nipping at his chest, then his abdomen, until finally facing his thighs.

As she was taking care of his hard, desire-laden cock – _lips and tongue and warmth and it was so good it felt like floating and melting at the same time_ – a faint tobacco smell made itself known. Opening his eyes and surveying their surroundings, he noticed the shitty cook, near the ship's railing, his back towards them. He was standing still, with his arms relaxed at his sides, a cigarette in his hand, all flaring embers and swirling smoke. Zoro wanted to tell Nami they should stop. The cook would see them. But he found himself unable to voice it. He didn't really want to, in the end. It felt good, and the ero-cook wasn't looking.

Moments later, Nami was gone, and Zoro was leaning against a tangerine tree, in the cold night. The other was still there, unmoving, his cigarette still emitting lazy smoke in the night. Following a sudden impulse, he walked towards him, and talked to him. He knew he did, even though he couldn't hear his own voice, as this was a dream. The cook didn't respond, nor did he move, or otherwise indicate he had taken notice of Zoro's presence, a couple feet behind him. He raised his hand and let it fall on his nakama's shoulder, registering cold from the firm, clothes-covered flesh. That sensation was so vivid he would still feel it, lingering on his fingertips, several hours later.

But the other still wasn't reacting. He motioned himself so he could see the cook's face, brushing a few golden locks away to get a better view.

Sanji was looking away, and his eyes, usually bight like a summer island's sky, only reflected the dark, starry night. Zoro felt fear take hold of his gut. He tried shaking him, calling his actual name, even though it was unusual for him to do so. But the cook just stood there, perfectly still. Frozen.

Everything went black.

***

He woke up abruptly, his breath short, and his clothes clinging to his sweaty skin. Realizing he was in the men's quarters, aboard the Going Merry, he sought the cook's sleeping outline in the dark, exhaling somewhat jerkily when his eyes fell on a mass of blond hair.

The cook was laying on the sofa tonight, huddled in a thick blanket, because the weather had been a bit on the cold side, that night. Still feeling uneasy because of his dream, Zoro silently crept on the floor, getting closer to his sleeping crew-mate. From where he was, he could clearly see his face, and he mused that he never realized how long his eyelashes were. But he was still, too still for his comfort.

He was wondering if he should touch him to instigate some kind of movement, of reaction, when the cook stirred in his sleep. At this small but definite motion, Zoro relaxed, and let out a slow, deep breath he had never noticed he was holding. He turned away and sat, his back against the couch, and tiredly rubbed his hands over his face. He felt like an idiot.

_What am I doing? That was just a dream._

He felt the cook stir again, and tilted his head to look at him over his shoulder. He had pulled the blanket up, over his nose, and seemed to be soundly asleep. But after watching him more closely, Zoro noticed he was faintly shivering. _He must be cold_ , he thought. He delicately nudged the cook's leg with his elbow.

"Hey, shit-cook. Get yourself another blanket." He whispered, as to not wake up anyone else.

No response, and that idiot was still shivering. He elbowed his leg a little more forcefully, eliciting a muffled snort from the sleeping cook, who kept sleeping. He almost chuckled. Even in his sleep, the guy managed to be annoying as fuck.

He grabbed his own blanket, discarded on the floor, and laid it over the sleeping asshole, who apparently needed it more than he did. After a while, he seemed to get warmer, and soon, stopped shivering entirely. Zoro sat back against the couch, leaning slightly backwards, his head resting against what felt like his crew-mate's folded arm. He knew he should lay down and go back to sleep, but he felt like staying this way for now. He could feel the comforting warmth of the cook's body against the nape of his neck, seeping through the double blanket layer.

Before he could even get his tired self to settle back on the floor, he started dozing on and off, only wearily opening his eyes, not knowing how much more he had slept, when he felt a soft pressure in his neck, some time later. Fingers were delicately brushing against his skin. When he drowsily tilted his head to the side, he met the cook's sleepy gaze.

His mind obscured in his half-asleep daze, he leaned back against the warm fingers, and simply went back to sleep.

When he woke up, the following morning, the couch was empty. Someone had thrown a blanket over him, a blanket that had a foreign, yet familiar, slightly pungent smell. By the time he was fully awake, Zoro had forgotten the sensation of the cook's fingers in his neck, or even that they had touched him at all. However, he could still feel coldness lingering on his hand, the one he had put on Sanji's unmoving shoulder in his dream.

***

"Okay. Sanji-kun, you're in charge of replenishing our food stock."

"Anything for you, Nami-swan!" The love-cook replied enthusiastically. "You're a goddess, and you deserve the best I can offer, though I'm not worthy of your attention, my sweet flower, and..." He went on singing her praise, and she soon tuned him out.

Zoro, sitting against the ship's railing with his arms behind his head, not far from the rest of the crew, had to refrain from laughing at the pathetic view. He was pretending to sleep, so, it wasn't a good idea.

They would be leaving this island before the sun went down, so they had to schedule their tasks wisely, and as usual, Nami had taken care of that. He wondered if she had something in mind for him, and hoped she didn't. He planned on spending the day napping in the sun, and of course, training a bit. And maybe having a drink or two, since the way to the galley's bottle rack would be clear today. He didn't mind watching the ship while everyone was wandering about.

Nami was now giving Chopper a small bag, nonetheless filled with what sounded like many coins.

"Don't waste it. You have enough to pay for food, as well as any medical supplies you might need. You'll help Sanji carrying everything. Also, Chopper?"

"Yeah?"

"Make sure he doesn't get too distracted, if you know what I mean." She added, nodding towards Sanji, who was now comparing her beauty to that of the moon, illuminating the darkest nights. "I don't care if the flower lady looks like a goddess, like last time – flowers aren't edible, and I got tired of eating potatoes. Just make sure he sticks to the list he and I made yesterday. And Luffy, don't – wait – Luffy!"

But her furious screams were thoroughly ignored by their overly enthusiastic captain, who was already flying over the ship's railing, propelled by his stretched arms. Nami, watching her idiotic crew-mate disappear into some lateral street, his gleeful cries – "new island, new island" – getting quieter and quieter as he ran further, rubbed the bridge of her nose between two fingers.

"Usopp, you follow him, and make sure he doesn't get us in trouble."

"Huh – yeah. I'd better hurry." And with these last words, the crew's sniper left after Luffy.

"I'm gonna do some shopping." She turned to the crew's archaeologist. "Robin, wanna go?"

The quiet woman was sitting at the table on the deck, engrossed in a thick book. She raised her head when Nami called her name.

"Yes? Oh, I'm sorry, I'll refrain for today. This," she said, gesturing at the book, "is most interesting. I intend to finish it as soon as possible." She smiled. "I don't mind watching the ship."

"As you wish. Then..." She glanced at Zoro. He opened his eyes when she turned to face him, dropping his pretense and raising an interrogative eyebrow. He knew he couldn't fool her.

"You're coming with me."

"Huh?"

"Yeah. I need someone to carry my shopping bags." A sweet, yet somewhat shrewd smile slowly appeared on her lips. "Besides, I'm a frail girl, and who will protect me if I run into trouble?"

"Nami-swan!" Sanji, sporting worship on his features and radiating adoration, knelt beside Nami and gallantly took her hand between his. "You don't need that meat-head. He couldn't protect a delicate flower such as you. If you let me, I'll be your bodyguard today!"

"Thank you, Sanji-kun, but you're in charge of restocking." She discarded the disgruntled cook with an absentminded wave of her hand, ignoring his plea, as well as his wide, slightly teary blue eyes.

"Whatever. I not doing it." With these words, Zoro closed his eyes, and resumed napping.

"Yes, you are." She marched on him, overshadowing his sleeping form with that thin body of hers, and pointed a slender finger at his nose. "Remember that you owe me money, and I'm doing you a favor by not raising your interests by tenfold."

Zoro didn't feel amused. He didn't want to waste a precious day of training – and napping, and possibly drinking – _window-shopping_. He sat upright and faced her, before replying, somehow managing to contain his indignation at her threat.

"What? You witch, you're the one that made up that debt from the start!"

At these words, a very aggravated Sanji suddenly appeared at Nami's side, a hand in his pocket, and the other discarding a cigarette's stub in the port's dirty waters. He grabbed Zoro by his collar, and the latter could smell the lingering tobacco in his breath when he brought his forehead against his in an aggressive motion.

"You dimwit! Don't speak to Nami-san like that!" He was positively fuming.

"What do you want, shit-cook?" Zoro muttered between clenched teeth.

"Women are to be treated respectfully! Apologies! Right now!"

"Heh! Are you gonna make me kneel down? I'd like to see you try!" Zoro almost snorted.

"Don't tempt me!"

Lost in the usual dynamics of their perpetual bickering, they didn't notice the shadow over them, until they both got knocked down by tiny, yet very able fists, courtesy of a certain annoyed navigator.

"Enough! It's already decided, anyway. Sanji, Chopper is waiting for you."

She grabbed Zoro by his shirt's collar, which prompted the latter to wonder absentmindedly if it would survive this day, in the event it were to be mistreated like that a third time. Not that he cared about stuff like that, anyway. She jerked him on his feet, and dragged the unwilling swordsman behind her.

Letting out a short growl but sighing inwardly, wondering where she put all this hidden strength in her thin arms, and followed her begrudgingly.

***

It was hell on earth.

Nami was walking slightly ahead, her step fairly bouncy, and was clearly enjoying herself. After stopping at what seemed to Zoro like a hundred different clothing stores, he was loaded with so many bag he didn't bother trying to count them. They weren't heavy, far from it, but the damn witch bought so much stuff that he had to hold some in his arms, after leaving the early purchases dangling from his wrists. At that point, he could barely see were he was going.

Again, she was stopping in front of a small shop's window, her eyes glistening with something he couldn't quite place. How girls could be so enthralled by shopping and clothes, he would never understand.

She turned towards him, threw him an appraising glance, and nodded.

"Let's have a break when I'm done with this one."

"Whatever."

He started following her when she moved to enter the shop, but she stopped him with a raised hand.

"I don't think you wanna follow me in there." She snickered and nodded at the shop's signboard.

He raised his eyes and swallowed nervously. It was a lingerie store.

"Right. I think I'll wait outside."

She chuckled. "Actually, I changed my mind. The break starts now."

She grabbed his poor shirt's collar, now beyond salvation, and led him to the terrace of a nearby cafe. After checking the prices, she spoke.

"Wait for me here. You can order whatever you want, I'm treating you. But don't move, or you'd get lost. I mean it." She added somewhat dangerously when he replied with a deep grunt.

After she left, Zoro ordered himself a beer. He didn't like it much, but it was the strongest thing the waiter said they served here. And it was cheaper than the fancy beverages he could see on the nearby tables, which would most likely please the witch.

Zoro sighed. It wasn't the way he expected to spend his day at all. Even though he didn't mind spending some time with Nami, that is, in broad daylight and without getting somewhat disheveled – or naked – shopping bored him to death. And while he was carrying her bags, he wasn't getting any training done, nor was he getting any rest. Oh well. At least, he had booze.

He had the gut feeling she had something in mind when she had decided to take him along on her shopping spree. She usually asked Usopp, or the ero-cook when he was available. Ok, they were busy today, but why didn't she ask him to follow Luffy instead of the crew's sniper? He was more apt at watching the captain's back, and besides, it was his job. Also, she had said they'd be done soon, and it was only the early afternoon. It was weird, and Zoro was sure she was planning something.

As if he didn't have enough weird stuff in his life already.

There were the strange occurrences that sometimes caught up with them since they entered the Grand Line, but after the first few weeks, he somehow got used to these. Somehow, because he expected this part of the world to have a few more surprising things in store for them. Then, there was his crew-mates, obviously, but he was so used to it as well that they usually didn't really count as weird anymore. However, the past few days were there to remind him that even familiar places and people could still surprise him, occasionally.

Even himself.

He sighed, his thoughts prompting images from his latest dream to flash in his mind. The images were already fuzzy, starting to fade, drowning in the day's events. He shifted his fingers, circled around his glass, wet with cold condensation. Cold like the cook's shoulder. He shook his head and drank more beer, as if it could wash the memory away.

After a while, Nami came out from the store, a small, fancy bag in her hand. Her short skirt was fluttering around her slender legs, and she looked extremely satisfied with herself. She sat down in front of Zoro, and ordered herself a cup of coffee.

If Zoro hated shopping, and was still feeling a bit bored, he had to admit he really didn't hate spending time with her. True, they didn't get along that well, but he had come to enjoy the fact she didn't feel the need to talk whenever they were together. As they sat in a comfortable silence, sipping at their respective drinks, he glanced sideways to study her face. She was fiddling with her coffee cup, looking away absentmindedly, not paying attention to him. Following her gaze, he realized she was staring at a young couple, a few tables away from them. The girl, a cute brunette with striking gray eyes, was giggling at something her partner said. He was a somewhat plain blond-haired lad, but he had an pleasant smile. They both looked quite nervous, and trying their best to hide it.

Something started nagging him, in the back of his mind. Something about the way she was looking at this couple. Not averting her gaze from them, she raised her cup and drowned the remaining coffee in a single, long gulp.

"Do you think they're on their first date?" She asked suddenly, turning her head to face him.

"Huh?"

"Yeah." She paused, glancing back at them furtively. "He looks very jumpy, and her laughter sound a bit too loud. I bet it's their first date."

Zoro knew better than to bet anything when Nami was around, so he didn't reply, looking at the brunette as she eyed her boyfriend coquettishly over her fancy drink.

"Hey, Zoro, I have something to confess." Nami said in a low voice after a few seconds.

He nearly jumped at her choice of words, something lurching uncomfortably within him, and the earlier nagging feeling getting stronger. He stared at her through narrowed eyes and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Do I want to know?"

She turned back to him and smirked. There was something in her expression that told him he definitely didn't want to know.

"Oh, I'm sure you do." She replied, her smirk widening. "You see, I bought a new swimsuit at that last shop."

He didn't reply, feeling a faint tension take hold of his gut, despite the fact it wasn't what he had first thought – feared – she was hinting at. What was the point she was trying to make? And how did it have anything to do with him?

"I went to the changing room to try it on, and I think it looks great on me." She added, and he thought her smile now had a somewhat wicked quality to it.

Unable to stand the raising pressure, he finally gave up, trying to look as impassive as possible, and replied : "Yeah. And?"

"Well, after that, I removed it and went to purchase it. But I did something else before leaving the changing room."

She leaned over the table, slowly sliding the spoon she used to stir her coffee with her hand, until it was inches from his own fist, tense around his empty glass. Her face was much too close to his own for his comfort. He almost shivered when her coffee scented breath brushed his skin, and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly as she whispered softly in his ear.

"Right now, I'm not wearing anything under my skirt."

His heart jumped so loudly in his chest at these words he almost didn't register the sound of light metal hitting the paved ground.

She leaned back, flashing her teeth in a dazzling grin, and sat back into her chair, resting her left leg on it's lateral bar.

"Oh no! My spoon fell. I'm so clumsy..." She said in a bight, clear voice. "Can you pick it up for me? It fell close to you."

For a few seconds, Zoro sat extremely still, as he realized that, if he were to comply, with the way she was currently sitting, he would be able to see perfectly what was – or rather, _wasn't_ – under her skirt. He couldn't believe she was doing this to him. Then again, he wasn't overly surprised at her scheming. But they were out, in broad daylight, surrounded by people, and it was so _indecent_... He felt his face heat up in embarrassment. He inhaled deeply, silently thanking his parents for his tan complexion.

Yet, he now had another problem. Said problem was located _down there_ , in his pants, which, incidentally, were feeling much too tight at the moment.

There was no reason for him to to what she asked him. Besides, this was way more than he could bear.

He stood up abruptly.

"We're going back. Now."

"You're no fun." Nami said, slightly pouting, though her smile didn't disappear. "We still have a few hours."

"Whatever. We're going back."

She stood up as well, leaving a couple coins on the table for their drinks while Zoro was picking up the numerous shopping bags. He started walking, but couldn't go far because she soon grabbed him by the back of his shirt.

"Zoro... You're going the wrong way."

He grunted derogatorily, and followed her when she started in the opposite direction.

***

It took Zoro some time to realize that they're weren't close to going back to the ship, even though they had been walking for a while. He stopped behind Nami, who was surveying her surroundings, as if she was looking for something.

"Hey."

She stopped as well and turned back to look at him.

"Were are we going?" He asked.

"Back to the ship. Why?"

"Why? Because we should have been there ages ago. Are you lost?"

She smiled cockily. "Look who's talking..." And with these words, she resumed walking.

He didn't really believe she would get lost that easily, not with her uncanny talent for anything related to maps and geography. And since he didn't entirely trust his own sense of direction – which he would never admit to anyone, even if it cost him his own life – he followed her without further questioning. Yet, he felt there was something she wasn't telling him, and as they walked through town, his suspicions kept growing.

After a while, she stopped again, eying a small establishment that stood on the side of the secluded street they were now in. Zoro looked up to read its signboard.

It was an inn.

Nami smiled to herself, and proceeded to climb the couple steps leading to its front door. She was about to push it open, when she stopped, and turned back to face Zoro. He hadn't moved from his spot, a few feet from there, what he hoped was a stern look on his face, in order to hide his inner bafflement.

He couldn't believe he didn't see this coming.

"I thought we agreed to go back." He said, after a few seconds.

She eyed him appraisingly, before that same smirk reappeared. "I lied. So, are you coming?"

Clenching his teeth and frowning, he walked behind her as she entered the inn.


	5. Catch the deluge in a paper cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could have stopped at this. He could have stopped and wondered.

"And I thought the long-nosed one was the liar."

He had followed her begrudgingly through the small inn, to the room she had rented for a few hours – just the time they still had before having to go back. He had a pretty good idea of what she had in mind, as he dropped the numerous shopping bags on the floor, beside the queen-sized bed. He sat there somewhat awkwardly, trying to hide his uneasiness at the whole thing.

"Says the one who'd rather become mute than tell something he wants to keep to himself."

Zoro fell silent. He should have known she wouldn't be fooled by a composed poker face. Knowing she had no trouble seeing through it made him feel exposed and vulnerable.

"... Touché." He admitted with reluctance after a while.

"What I did was just that. A lie by omission."

She sniggered, dropping the small bag containing her swimsuit, before bending over another one, grabbing a pair of white Capri pants. She eyed them critically, nodded, and rummaged through the other bags, until she drew out a frilly, orange tank top. She turned back to face him, and rolled her eyes when she noticed he was looking at her with what he willed to be an stern expression.

"Oh, come on. You know me well enough to realize that I'm a better liar than Usopp and his wild imagination. I only lie for practical purpose."

"And what's your point?"

She smiled. "You'd never have followed me here if I told you where we were going..."

She dropped the pieces of clothing on an armchair that was sitting in a corner of the small room, and sat down next to him.

"... or why." She added.

He watched her remove her sandals. When she was done, she grabbed his shoulder, before gently but insistently pushing him down. He tensed ever so slightly, but didn't resist, knowing she wouldn't let him.

"I told you earlier, that the next time, we'd do this properly."

She straddled him in a swift motion, applying pressure against his cock, which started growing harder by the second when she subtly ground against his hips. He muffled a groan, knowing what was coming. But he didn't move yet, unwilling to concede that soon. "Why should I comply?"

Her smile widened. "Because not everything I told you earlier was a lie."

He let her take his hands, and motion them to brush against the back of her thighs, slowly sliding up until they reached her ass. His cock gave a painful twitch in his suddenly slightly too tight pants as he found out that, indeed, she hadn't lied – she wasn't wearing any underwear. She had wandered through town, in broad daylight, without anything covering her butt, other than that short, fluttering skirt. He shivered, as strong desire surged through his body.

_This isn't good. It's becoming a habit, and there's nothing I can do about it, because I don't want to._

And clearly, she knew she was going to win that one. She chuckled softly when his hands tensed around her hips, before he circled her waist with both arms, eagerly pressing her body against his, finally giving in to her persistent suggestion.

She nipped at his lips playfully before brushing her cheek past his own, darting her tongue to perform a single, maddening lick against his earlobe.

"Don't be in such a hurry."

She grabbed his collar and gently pulled at it. Getting the hint, he sat up. She slid her hands under his already wide open shirt, and slowly caressed his chest, sighing in a somewhat content fashion.

"I locked the door. Nobody's going to walk in on us."

Her hands moved up until they reached his shoulders, before slowly pushing the garment down his arms, and obviously enjoying herself. Looking at her face intently, frowning ever-so-slightly, he pondered absentmindedly that, if they were going to do this, he might as well take part in it.

His hands went up her hips to her sides, under her t-shirt. She shuddered when he pressed his thumbs against the ribs beneath her breasts. His hands went further up while he leaned to kiss her, slowly yet ardently, and he had to refrain from sighing against her mouth when he realized she wasn't wearing a bra either. He grabbed the upper garment by its hem, and gently pulled it up, revealing the glorious view of her breasts, nipples perked up amid creamy, rosy-beige skin. She raised her arms over her head, helping him discard her t-shirt, and letting them fall around his neck as he kissed her again. He then went to her jaw, her neck, leaving warm trails of wet kisses down her collarbone. His mind was beginning to cloud as he started getting drunk on the softness of her skin, on her smell, restraint all but forgotten. When her fingers threaded themselves in his short hair, and caressed the sensitive skin in his neck, the cook's sleeping face flashed in his mind.

He could have stopped at this. He could have stopped and wondered. However, lost in the moment, as well as the sensation of Nami's body against his, he didn't even have to trouble himself with discarding the though.

_Not now. Later._

It went away as it came, in a flash, and he soon forgot about it altogether. It was easier like that, more convenient.

They had never had enough time, light, or privacy to enjoy this kind of thing, and they didn't know when they would have another chance like this one. Zoro, in the back of his mind, decided Nami's scheming wasn't that bad, in the end. He would fully take advantage of this opportunity.

He laid her down on her back, and, cupping one of her breasts with his hand, started kissing the other, occasionally darting his tongue to tease the sensitive area. Her skin there felt even smoother, silkier against his fingertips than in any other place he had the chance to explore previously. She inhaled jerkily when he closed his lips around her nipple, arching slightly under him. While he played with her breasts, she reached for her skirt's side zipper, and opened it, before squirming to remove it. She then started to unbuckle his pants' belt, soon sliding his clothing, underwear included, down his legs. He stopped his ministrations, taking the time to remove his boots and the last of his pants, and leaned over her again.

They were both fully naked for the first time, with enough light to fully appreciate each other's body. His eyes ran over hers, all pale yet healthy skin with faint tan-lines, from the slender curves of her arms and breasts to the ginger, soft looking ringlets between her legs. She placed her hands on his hips, brushing her thumbs against the thin layer of flesh, arousing a small grunt from him as she spurred on sensitive nerve endings.

Resting his weight on one hand, he put the other at her waist, brushing careful fingers up her ribcage. She let out low chuckles when he grazed at some ticklish spot. He lowered his head and resumed his previous activity, licking and nipping at her breasts, while she slowly caressed his back. His free hand went down her waist, fingers burying themselves in the mellow, soft flesh of her hips. It soon reached the joint between her leg and abdomen, and she tensed as he applied gentle pressure there with feather-light fingers. Her reactions to his touch, her sensitivity, it was all driving him wild.

He raised his head to look at her, breathing deeply, unwilling to let out how overwhelmed he felt at the incredibly sensual view of her slightly flushed cheeks, of her parted, enticing lips. He met her eyes, full of desire and want, and promising of soon-to-come pleasure. She held his gaze as she moved the hand that was buried in his hair until now, fingers brushing behind his ear down his neck. It went down his collarbone, soon replaced by her mouth when it left to reach at his cock, which she stroked slowly between deft fingers.

It was better. If he thought previously that the sex between them had been good, this was, without the faintest shadow of a doubt, tremendously better. The conscientious exploring of each other's body, the slow rise of desire. So was the notion that he was the one causing such pleased – and pleasurable – reactions in her. It was so overwhelming he wanted to possess her right now and come with all the strength he had.

Soon, too soon, she let go of his hardened member, leaving him short of breath and overthrown by desire. He pressed himself against her, ready to proceed, but she stopped him, squirming away from his seeping, desperate erection. She kissed him softly on the lips, and smiled.

"We have time. Come here."

She gestured for him to take her place. He did so, hoping she wouldn't leave him in the state he was currently in. He didn't know what he would do if she did. He was so aroused, his testicles were so tense, they almost hurt.

When he was laying on his back, she knelt between his parted legs, and traced his hipbones with light fingers. She leaned forward, resting her weight on her forearms, and kissed him. Her small tongue delved gently into his mouth, sliding against his own, rubbing sweet fire there that went straight to his currently neglected cock. She broke away after a while, planting small kisses along his jaw, his neck, brushing a hand along his chest. She gradually went further down, her belly and breasts brushing against his length, making him wince each time. She toyed with his nipples, softly caressing one with her palm, while licking, pressing the other between her lips, before cautiously, gently biting it, eliciting an aroused groan from him. It felt good, much better than he had ever imagined it could. He had never thought they would be that sensitive.

But damn, if she didn't do something, anything, about his aching cock, very soon, he feared he would come like a fucking virgin against her boobs, which were currently brushing there painfully.

After what felt like hours, but most likely was merely a few seconds, he felt her small hand close around him, her thumb brushing against the tense skin at the base of his cock's tip. Her mouth left his chest, as she was readjusting her position between his legs. She gently bit the inside of his thigh, before licking up until she reached the joint of his leg. His dream from the previous night flashed in his mind, and, shivering with anticipation, he thought, _oh shit, this is really happening_. She then ran her tongue from the base of his length to the tip, before closing her lips around him. He muffled a moan, closing his eyes in bliss and focusing on keeping control over his arousal, resisting the urge to let go right away. It had been a long, long time since he last had a girl go down on him, and he had forgotten how warm, how good, how heavenly it felt.

Nami went on sucking his cock skilfully, running her tongue around the head before taking as much of his length as she could into her mouth, while lightly pressing her thumb at its base. It wasn't long before he felt his control slip. Unwilling to talk, he tried warning her by tapping her shoulder gently, but she batted his hand away, carrying her task with dedication, until he couldn't hold on. Letting out a low, subdued moan, he finally let himself succumb to the powerful pleasure waves of climax. She kept her mouth around him as he came, and went on stroking his gradually relaxing, increasingly sensitized cock long after he was done.

When he opened his eyes, he felt an unusual, strong urge to embrace her and press her against him. He almost raised a hand to cup her face, but he didn't. The fact she was eying him with a satisfied, somewhat smug look on her face prevented him from doing so right away. But he knew for a fact she was far from satisfied yet. He breathed deeply and cleared his throat.

"How much time do we have left?"

She grinned. "Plenty enough. Why?"

"Just making sure."

He grabbed her hand, which was now resting on his lower belly, stroking the light patch of hair leading to his navel. He gently but insistently pulled at her arm. When she was laying at his side, he raised his eyes to look at her face, and found her looking at him intently. He held her gaze, wondering what was on her mind right now. They stared at each other silently. After a moment she lifted an arm to brush her fingers against his jaw, and, intertwining them in his hair, closed her eyes. Picking up on what she wanted, he lowered his head and brought his lips to hers. He kissed her slowly, tasting himself on her tongue, and his sated cock gave a faint twitch when he realized she had most likely swallowed. He groaned softly against her lips, hoping he would be able to go again soon.

Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he teased her tongue out of her mouth, while his free hand explored her front, slowly going down, gently squeezing a nipple, brushing against her hip, until it reached between her thighs. She opened them a little more to grant him access, and he started caressing the soft skin in the inside of her leg. Her breath caught into her throat when he brushed a finger against her smooth, wet lips, and shuddered when he started stroking the velvety skin rhythmically. Moments later, she was already grinding against his hand. Eager to please her, he slid his finger inside her. He kept going, feeling her tense gradually around his digit. His desire for her was growing again, slowly but surely.

He was wondering if he should add another finger, when she grabbed his hand, making him stop. He frowned, but she merely giggled.

"If you carry on like that, I'll come before you can recover."

He grunted. It embarrassed him tremendously to admit how much she was affecting him, but he was almost ready to go again. Damn her for underestimating him, he thought. He grabbed her ass, and, burying his face into her neck and kissing it fiercely, unwilling to meet her eyes, he pressed himself against her, so she could feel his awakening arousal. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and a smile started creeping up on her reddened lips.

"Oh."

He grabbed her hips and motioned her so she was laying on her back. He knelt between her legs, and started kissing and nipping at her inner thighs – he had liked when she had done it to him, and he supposed she would enjoy it as well – going up until he reached between them. Pinning her hips to the bed, he darted his tongue to poke at her clitoris. Her hands gripped his forearms, fingers diving into his flesh as he held her in place. Her breathing was becoming slightly erratic, and he felt how tense her lower lips were as he delved his tongue between them.

"... W-wait... h-ha..."

She was trying to raise her hips, and he relaxed his grip to let her do so a couple times. He could tell she was close, and he could have let her come like that, but he liked feeling her tense around him while he was buried within her. He wanted to feel it again, and since he was now rock hard and fully ready to go again, he stopped.

She nearly whined when he withdrew from her, wiping his lips on his wrist.

"... Nooo..." Her voice was hoarse with arousal. "Don't stop... Almost there..."

Her face was extremely flushed, and she was panting faintly. He pressed his length between her legs, muffling a groan. He could have taken her as she was, laying on her back, but he remembered they were currently enjoying the privacy of an inn's room. This was an opportunity to try things he wouldn't dare during their now usual meetings in the crow's nest. He only hesitated for a moment, before finally deciding that letting go of his usual restraint was well worth it.

He overturned her on the mattress, made her raise her hips, positioned himself and, ignoring her plea to hurry, cautiously entered her. She let out a faint moan when he was fully buried inside her, and he paused for a second before starting to move again. He could feel she was really close, and in this position, she felt even tighter than usual.

He kept the rhythm slow, torturous, willing to make things last for as long as possible, enjoying every single moment of it. Every time he reached deep inside her, she moaned, and even though he had come a short time before, she was so tight, so eagerly sucking him in, and so warm he could already tell he wouldn't last either. His grip on her hips tightened, and it was feeling so good – he suddenly couldn't restrain himself anymore.

So tight – _so tight oh shit I_ –

He reached down and circled his arms around her waist, making her almost stand up on her knees while he thrust into her. She cried his name out as he planted a heated kiss on her shoulder, sucking eagerly on the tender flesh, and she writhed against him, tensing so hard around him he thought his cock would break. And yet, at the same time, she was squeezing him the right way, in all the right places. It felt like he was thrusting into white hot, liquid fire.

_So hot so tight I'm – oh shit fuck fuck FUCK –_

With a final, loud groan escaping through his clenched teeth, he surrendered to a most powerful, devastating orgasm. His abdominal muscles strained as he slammed himself into her a few last times, shivering under wave after wave of pleasure, until they receded completely.

Positively dazed, he gingerly pressed her body against his, lavishing the faint bruise his biting had left on the tender skin of her shoulder with grateful kisses. She leaned back, resting her weight against him, trying to steady her strained breathing. They were both covered in sweat, and he drove his nose in the damp hair covering her neck, relishing her sweet, musky smell.

After a moment, they moved, rearranging bodies and limbs to lay on the bed, enjoying the afterglow in each other's arm. If he had been reluctant to act so intimately before, it now felt almost natural, his last reservations overcome with the mind-blowing pleasure he just experienced. A foreign warmth started spreading within his chest when, after shifting a bit more, she circled his waist with her arm.

She started shivering a bit after a while. Still somewhat hesitant, he tentatively pressed her against his chest, fingers intertwining in her ginger locks.

"Cold?"

She chuckled. "Maybe."

He sat up and pulled the bed sheet from beneath them, covering them both.

"Thanks."

She nuzzled against his chest, and he felt his heartbeat pace up, while he focused on not showing his sudden embarrassment. He could already feel his cheeks heat up.

"Any complaints about the fact I set you up?" She smiled against his skin.

He grunted softly. "None."

"Good."

They fell silent again. Nami seemed lost in her own thoughts, and Zoro felt his eyelids getting heavier. He was about to doze off, when she elbowed him insistently.

"Don't fall asleep on me. We'll have to leave soon, and we'd better take a shower before that."

He groaned grumpily and stirred a bit, instinctively pressing his nose into her hair. "... 'm not sleeping."

"Yeah, right. Anyway, I was wondering."

"Mmm?"

"When and how did you lose your virginity?"

He opened his eyes. She was looking at him, an eyebrow raised in questioning. He shrugged.

"Why do you wanna know?"

"Dunno. Just curious."

"It's not interesting. And none of your business." He stated. Why did she want to know, and why _now_ , of all moments? He felt sleepy and vulnerable, and he didn't want to reminisce such old memories.

"Right. I'm still curious."

He sighed, knowing she would never give up, and instead, keep on nagging him until he told her. He'd better get it over with as fast as he could.

"Well..." He started gruffly, readjusting himself against the plump pillow, while she plopped her elbow on the other one, resting her head in her hand. "I was sixteen. Stumbled on that huge bear in a forest I was crossing. I was rather green," he started, but stopped to frown at her when she chuckled at his choice of word and tugged at his hair. "Stop that."

She complied with a fond smile, laying her head on the arm now resting on her pillow. "Sorry. Go on."

"Anyway," he went on, slightly unsettled by her intense, genuine smile. "I wasn't nearly as strong as I am now. I killed the bear, but I was badly hurt, I guess. That woman found me and healed me."

"She was your first?" After he nodded, she added : "How old was she?"

"I don't know. Probably in her late twenties."

"Oh. What happened?"

He grunted at her question, before replying somewhat dryly. "I banged her. Do I need to go into details?"

She wrinkled her nose, and glared at him, before bracing herself on an arm and poking a slender finger right between his eyebrows.

"Answer the question, or I'll raise your debt. I'm serious." She threateningly added when his only reply was a snort.

He knew there was no way out her questioning. He cleared his throat, and, after a few seconds, answered slowly.

"I stayed for a few days, just long enough for my wounds to heal. She lived alone in that secluded area, and I believe she was very lonely. She... I believe she thought it would make me want to stay."

Of course, he had known very well that he couldn't stay, but he didn't tell Nami about that. He didn't tell her that he, too, had felt very lonely back then, as he finally started walking the path he'd promised he would walk. A path he had known for years he'd walk alone. A path he had previously thought he'd walk with the person he made that promise to. Somehow, he had felt like he had some kind of bond with that woman, whose name he didn't even remember. Even her face was fuzzy in his mind – everything from this time was, since he was burning with fever when she found him. He merely remembered her eyes, large and blue, and how they had filled with tears when he told her he'd leave soon.

"So, you didn't love her."

He turned to Nami, and, for what wasn't the first time and probably not the last, he marveled at her keen perspicacity. Trying to keep his face as neutral as he could, he answered.

"I didn't."

The truth was a lot more complicated than that. He didn't spend enough time with her to find out how he felt about her, and he had other things in his mind back then. He knew he didn't dislike her. He felt a connection with her, because he recognized, in her eyes, the same kind of loneliness he sometimes came to feel. But, certainly, he didn't _love_ her. It would have made his departure a lot more difficult than it already was.

And besides, that kind of love wasn't something for him. He didn't even think he could feel that way towards anyone, ever.

He didn't want to think about it anymore.

"What about your first love, then?" Nami asked.

At her words, he sat up, and started gathering his discarded clothes.

"We don't have time for that." He didn't look at her and headed towards the small bathroom, which was more of a shower cabin. "I'm going first."

He thought she heard her talk to him as he stepped in the shower and turned the water on.

"Coward."

 _Whatever_ , he replied inwardly, grabbing a bar of soap that laid there, and deciding, even though he wasn't sure she had spoken, to ignore her.


	6. Leaving me with words unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, he wouldn't let himself get hurt by the current situation. If there was something he could have control over, it was that.

Zoro was trying to sleep. After a delicious lunch that was, as usual, quite hectic, thanks to their captain's crazy eating habits, the crew had scattered around the ship. The girls were now sprawled out on deckchairs, enjoying the glorious afternoon sun to perfect their tans. Usopp was telling a story, sitting on the deck and tinkering with some kind of contraption of his, and Chopper was nearby, listening to him with bright eyes. Luffy was sitting on Merry's prow, nursing his belly, stretched to the brim by the enormous quantity of food he had engulfed during their latest meal – most of it being meat, not-so-surreptitiously stolen from his friends' plates, or snatched directly from the serving dishes, much to the easily aggravated cook's dismay.

The cook himself was nowhere to be seen. Zoro believed he had stayed behind to wash the dishes and otherwise clean the galley after their tumultuous lunch. Which wasn't a bad thing, since he more than fed up with the guy's increasingly annoying behavior.

Leaning against the railing, not far from Usopp and Chopper, the swordsman was trying to nap. But it had been nearly half an hour already, and he couldn't seem to fall asleep. His eyes were closed, his arms were crossed behind his head, and his breath was steady. But it was all a pretense. If he had no trouble tuning out the sniper's voice, his mind just wouldn't stop, filling itself with unsettling thoughts over and over.

From the first few weeks after they met, as soon as he got a little more confident around his new crew-mates, the cook had been practically a constant in Zoro's life. He had found himself annoyed at the woman-adulating idiot's snappish behavior, at first. But soon enough, Zoro realized that, if the guy was quick to nag, he was also quick to lose his temper when picked on. Taunting him, as well as the ensuing, seemingly unavoidable fights, of course, was a welcome distraction during the long, mostly boring travels between islands. He found himself very interested when he realized how strong the guy was, and that their angry but playful – on Zoro's part, at least – sparing was a perfect compliment to lifting weights, as far as training went. And damn, the guy could cook.

They didn't talk much, outside of verbal aggressions, and they fought all the time. They didn't get along well, but they had each other's back. And in the end, if he had to be honest about it – which, fortunately, had never happened – Zoro would have to admit he was glad the shit-cook had joined them, even if he was still an aggravating idiot, at the end of the day.

But for what now was a few weeks, that consistency in the cook's behavior towards him had been steadily changing. As if Zoro, whose life was already messed up from the fact his secret meetings with Nami, in the crow's nest, had more or less become a habit, needed even more complications.

He sighed, opening one eye when Luffy passed him, dragging his protuberant belly towards the storage room and repeatedly humming something that sounded suspiciously like "poop". Soon, Luffy was gone, and he closed his eye again and resumed trying not to think of the cook.

The questioning sideways glances were back with a vengeance, and not being able to figure out what prompted them annoyed Zoro to no end. Of course, there was still the bickering and ensuing fights. But the cook looked as if he went out of his way to annoy Zoro half the time, and some of his retorts almost sounded forced. As for the actual fights, they sometimes felt like he was completely out of the whole thing. As if he didn't put his heart and soul in them anymore. And when he did, his face didn't wear that expectant look Zoro was now used to. It was now replaced by some other quality, some kind of underlying intensity that he couldn't really pinpoint yet.

Zoro didn't know what he had done to warrant such changes. Or maybe he had an idea of what could have caused them, but simply couldn't believe that the cook knew about Nami. If he did, his reaction would be very different from his current behavior, he knew at least that much.

And Nami... Her behavior towards him didn't change that much in the past weeks, outside of their now regular private meetings, and he was grateful for that. Of course, there were the occasional furtive, knowing glances. These would unsettle him at first, but he gradually got over it, and was now able to control his reactions a little better. At least, he didn't get a boner every time she glanced in his general direction anymore.

He cracked an eyelid open, and glanced around. Nami was shifting on her lawn chair, conscientiously putting sunscreen on. After pouring a generous quantity of lotion in her hand, she put the bottle aside, and started massaging a slender, stretched leg, starting with the ankle and gradually going up. Seconds later, she was rubbing the inside of her thigh, and Zoro almost flinched when images of her naked body superimposed with the current view. He knew for a fact how smooth and soft her skin was there, around her most delicate parts. His face heated up at these thoughts.

Nami briskly tilted her head towards him, probably feeling she was being watched. Meeting his gaze, she raised an interrogative, yet simultaneously coquettish eyebrow at him, and something lurched uncomfortably in his chest. His face felt like it was burning now, and if it weren't for his tan complexion, he was pretty sure he would have blushed madly. Not to mention his pants suddenly felt a bit tighter around the crotch area. He scolded himself inwardly, and closed his eye, once again steadying his breath and trying to regain his composure.

Ok, so maybe he didn't control his reactions that well. But he was still getting better at it.

There was also the fact she had started joining him every time he was on watch. But Zoro didn't even bother trying to resist her anymore. It was actually the opposite : every time, he felt what he finally admitted was expectancy at the idea she would soon be joining him. He also stopped blaming himself about giving in so easily, for the most part. What could he do, anyway? The sex was very enjoyable. He admitted begrudgingly that he was now so far into the physical aspect of their relationship that the only comforting thing about it was that he hadn't started to join her as well, when she was on watch. It was his sole, his last thought of comfort about the whole thing, really. The only part of it all where he was still in control.

And yet, sometimes, some lingering doubts – and guilt – surfaced. At these times, Zoro had to refrain from feeling utterly, absolutely vanquished. More than anything else, he hated the fact he couldn't bring himself to mind at all. He had willingly trapped himself, and he now had to bear the consequences.

There wasn't much he could do about it, anyway. It was too late for that. So, he did his best not to think about it.

He almost jumped when he heard the galley's door opening – the cook was, obviously, done with the dishes. Had he been waiting for that sound? He didn't really want to know. He opened his eyes, and saw the suit-clad guy lighting up, then leaning on the railing, looking absentmindedly at the ocean. He narrowed his eyes, staring at the other intensely, as if doing this could help him understand what was going on in the shit-cook's mind.

Inevitably, after a few seconds, the cook's gaze shifted from the horizon to meet his own. He stared right back at Zoro, though the latter couldn't be sure that silly dreamer of a crew-mate really saw him. He seemed lost in his thoughts, his visible eye slightly unfocused, glazed by whatever he was thinking about. Nevertheless, Zoro felt scrutinized, almost stripped naked under this unwavering gaze, whose color he couldn't really see from his position, and that seemed to see right through him. The pressure it exerted over him made his heart race a bit, and his breath caught in his throat as he forced himself to hold that stare without showing his inner confusion.

Finally, the cook blinked, threw his cigarette stub over the railing, and after straightening up, went back to the galley. When he disappeared from his view, Zoro relaxed imperceptibly.

He had thought about confronting the cook about his weird behavior more than once, but he didn't dare, knowing it might come back to bite him afterward. What if that annoying idiot reacted by questioning him on what was going on with Nami? There was still the chance that the shit-head had noticed something, somehow, though obviously, his recent occasional lack of antagonism proved without a doubt that he didn't know of its exact nature. Zoro didn't look forward to him figuring it out, because he knew there would be hell to pay. So, he avoided mentioning the shitty cook's unusual behavior altogether.

Zoro cursed inwardly, reminding himself he was supposed to be sleeping, and braced himself. Obviously, wasting time thinking and looking around would get him nowhere. He closed his eyes, started breathing slowly before once again trying to clear his mind.

He had almost succeeded doing that, paving the way for a peaceful nap, when a loud shout suddenly erupted on the deck.

"I FEEL LIGHTER!"

He felt something rubbery brushing against each of his arms, which were crossed between his head and the wooden railing. He should have realized what was about to happen. He should have been able to avoid it, to dodge. However, he was so focused on his relaxation technique that he didn't register what was happening right away. In the end, he didn't even have time to open his eyes. Before he knew it, his captain's flexible body crashed into his own, effectively sending them both skidding against the railing in a messy tangle of limbs. He then tried opening his eyes, but the world was aslant and turning wildly around him. Before he could even start to feel sick at the unsettling motion, he closed them again.

When the sudden momentum finally exhausted itself, Zoro's body was sore with what felt like a bazillion small bruises and aches. Discarding them to the back of his mind with a slightly pained grunt, he opened his eyes. At first, he could only see a bright, blue sky that went on reeling even after he stopped moving. The cook's eyes flashed into his mind, but once again, the thought disappeared before he could really notice. He didn't dare move yet, and for a short moment, he felt as if gravity was reversed and he was about to fall into the sky.

But after a while, it got better.

"I'm alive." He noted out loud.

A somewhat high-pitched chuckling snapped him out of his daze, and he realized that there was a light, warm weight resting on the lower part of his body, down his chest. He carefully raised his head, only to glance at his captain's goofy grin. Of course. He sighed tiredly and rested his head against the wooden floor again.

"Luffy."

His captain shifted slightly, sneaking his arms around his first-mate's waist, and hugging him tightly before chuckling again.

"Hehe, Zoro." He looked delighted about successfully catching his usually attentive crew-mate unaware.

Zoro didn't reply, idly thinking that, if something else didn't kill him first, his captain would be the death of him, one day. For a split second, he felt like returning the boy's clumsy embrace, like intertwining his hand into the messy black hair in an awkward gesture of comfort – _for him, or for me? Bah. Whatever._ Of course, he didn't.

They laid like that for a moment, but after some time, he felt like it had been long enough. He sat up, but Luffy didn't relax his grip around him. He stared at the boy, and saw he was, surprisingly, pouting. When Luffy realized he was stared at, he buried his face in Zoro's shirt and mumbled something that the swordsman couldn't quite get.

"Huh?"

The captain raised his head to face his first-mate, but soon glanced at Usopp and Chopper, sitting a few feet away, and looking at them with an unusual frown on his features.

"Zoro is weird." Luffy said in a low voice, as if he didn't want to be heard by anyone but him. Zoro was pretty sure that what he had said earlier was completely different.

"I'm not." He replied, feeling a slight frown sneaking its way to his features.

"You're weird." Luffy repeated a little louder. "And Sanji's weird, too." He added, before raising to his feet, grabbing Zoro's shirt and effectively jerking him on his feet.

Zoro let him, silently wondering for the umpteenth time how such a scrawny body could hide such a monstrous strength – he was no light-weight. He stood and rubbed the back of his head, not even flinching when his hand brushed against a painful bump he had earned during their earlier scramble. He didn't even have time to recover before Luffy latched at him, jumping on his back and circling his arms around his neck, nearly suffocating him for a second. But he soon relaxed his arms a bit, and rested his head on Zoro's shoulder.

"What made you weird?" He whispered loudly into Zoro's ear.

The latter tensed ever-so-slightly at these words, wondering briefly if his captain had any idea of what was going on right under his nose. But before he could even reply, Luffy let himself slide from his back. Instead of prying further, he readjusted his straw-hat, which had fallen off his head during their scuffle, and grinned at his first-mate.

"Oh well... It'll be ok. I trust you to make sure nobody gets hurt."

And with these last words, he went on to sit with Usopp and Chopper, leaving Zoro frowning deeply. He stood there for a while, Luffy's words slowly sinking into him. Making sure nobody would get hurt? Surely, Luffy hadn't said that thinking of Nami. He never even mentioned her to begin with, and Zoro relaxed a bit at the thought at least that part of their secret was safe, though with Luffy's unexpected, occasional bout of intuition, he couldn't be absolutely sure about it. He clearly didn't plan on hurting her in any fashion, and he trusted her to manage on her own, anyway. Nami was strong. He still promised himself he'd be even more careful around her than he already was.

And obviously, he wouldn't let himself get hurt by the current situation. If there was something he could have control over, it was that. Even if it happened, as unlikely as it was, it would be his fault to begin with, and he'd stoically bear the consequences.

Which left the cook.

He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, feeling a slight headache creeping behind his eyeballs, and started walking towards the ship's stern. As much as he avoided doing that whenever he could, he needed to think, and for that, he needed more quietness than the deck could currently offer.

He climbed the stairs, feeling slightly guilty for not being completely honest with his captain, who trusted him without a second thought from the very first day since they had met. But now that he thought about it, he should probably feel even more guilty towards the cook, who might actually have feeling their navigator. Certainly, he equally lavished both female crew-mates – as well as Vivi when she was with them – with chivalrous words and attentions, but he was quite literally at Nami's beck and call. In the other hand, Robin wasn't as opportunistic as the other girl, and she could properly defend herself without his help, which might be the reason he was a lot more protective of the younger one.

But Zoro couldn't be sure about it. The guy made a fool of himself every time a girl was in his vicinity, and he had always thought the perverted cook was merely driven by his raging hormones. Then again, he never pretended he could understand what was going on in that pervert's mind. For all he knew, that idiot might really be in love with Nami. And if that really was the case, even though she clearly never showed any romantic interest in him, yeah, Zoro reckoned that idiot might get hurt, eventually.

And he hadn't thought about that at all.

He finally reached the back deck, only to realize that the shit-cook was there, casually leaning on the railing and smoking leisurely.

_Shit._

He really didn't need to be around him right now, while he still was trying to figure it all out. He was about to retreat, when the cook slowly turned around. Zoro froze as his visible eye fell on him. For what seemed like hours, the other didn't move nor talk. Then, after a while, he turned back towards the sea.

"Marimo." He said, simply acknowledging his crew-mate's presence.

There it was again. Normally, the cook would have uttered some nonsensical taunt, getting on his nerves and most likely prompting a fight. But this was as far from the cook's normal behavior as possible. He wasn't looking back, plainly standing there with an indifference that was so foreign it almost made Zoro's hair stand on end. He couldn't see his face, but the cook, standing still like that and looking away, his shoulders visibly tense, seemed almost gloomy. He repressed sudden shivers, that threatened to run down his spine at the memory of _that_ dream, which this situation uncomfortably reminded him of.

There was no way he was going to back out now that the other knew he was there. He wasn't a wuss, he wasn't afraid, and besides, the shit-cook would find it weird if he left suddenly, without a logical reason. He felt annoyed, but, after debating about it for a split second, decided against starting a fight. Instead, he grunted in reply, and joined him, sitting against the ship's railing and crossing his arms, trying to suppress his uneasiness.

Silence fell upon them, only broken by the occasional exhale of smoke from the cook, which suspiciously sounded like sighs to Zoro. Annoyance and discomfort gradually increased in his gut, as more time passed and the cook didn't talk or move, aside from a light tapping of his shoe's tip on the wooden floor. He glanced at him sideways, and realized the guy's curly eyebrow was scrunched in a weird expression. His eye wasn't vacant anymore, instead fixated on the view, looking at something he was the only one to see. He almost looked as if he had just seen a ghost.

Whatever it meant, that was an expression he had never come to see on the guy's face. There was definitely something wrong with the cook. And Zoro was at a loss about what to do. Not only did he think he wasn't the most qualified to help or comfort him, but also, they were so different. He normally found it difficult to understand his hot tempered crew-mate, and he didn't see what he could do to ease his trouble.

But something obviously needed to be done, since even Luffy had noticed the strangeness in his recent behavior. And, as the first mate, Zoro felt responsible about the whole crew, which, in the end, still included the cook.

But he also realized it was a lot more complicated than that.

He couldn't leave the cook like that. Even if he didn't get along very well with his temperamental nakama, even if he didn't understand him most of the time, he just couldn't find it in himself to let him down. Whatever it was that caused his strange behavior lately, he was clearly troubled. And, as awkward as it made him feel, he was as unable to turn his back to the cook if he needed help as he had been to deny comfort to Nami when she had asked.

Because they were nakama.

So, he swallowed somewhat nervously, braced himself, and finally opened his mouth, not really knowing how to bring that depressed idiot to talk about whatever upset him, but willing to try nevertheless.

"Hey, what –"

"Have you ever –" The cook started, at the same time as he did.

They both fell in an awkward silence. The cook glanced furtively at him, before quickly resuming his staring at the horizon, and nodding.

"You first, meat-head."

Zoro grunted. "No, you."

Another furtive, somewhat nervous glance. The cook threw his cigarette butt into the ocean and sighed.

"Why can't we even agree on something as simple as this?" He grumbled.

Zoro snorted. "You tell me."

The cook stayed quiet for a while, before replying slowly.

"... Another time, maybe."

And with that, he resumed his staring at the ocean's vastness, falling silent again. Zoro quickly realized that if he wanted to get the cook to tell him whatever the matter was, he would have to bring him there himself, and carefully.

He cleared his throat. "So... What did you want to ask?"

The cook sighed yet again, before replying.

"You're probably the last one I should be asking that, marimo, but... Just promise me that you'll answer me seriously." He paused. "You can laugh at me if you want. I don't care anymore."

"What the hell, cook? Spill, already, and stop wasting my time."

"Just answer honestly, that's all I ask."

"Huh... whatever." Zoro grumbled.

Another sigh. The cook got a cigarette from his jacket's inner pocket, and lit up. But Zoro didn't break the silence yet, his gut instinct telling him the cook was only gathering his courage before talking again. While he waited, another of his dreams flashed in his mind, the vague images disappearing rapidly but nevertheless leaving him with an ominous feeling of foreboding.

"Have you ever been in love?"

Zoro felt himself freeze for a split second in the resounding silence that followed. He hadn't expected that question at all. And, after recovering from the mild surprise it caused him, he pondered about what prompted such a silly, yet personal question. And one that was hard to answer, at that. Typical of the cook.

Well... Had he ever been in love? Hard to tell. He closed his eyes, and images flashed against his eyelids. His childhood friend's face – the one he made that promise to. The wide, tears-filled blue eyes of that woman who lived in the woods. Nami's relaxed, sleeping face, her long eyelashes brushing her cheeks.

"What kind of stupid question is that?"

The other snorted, though he only looked mildly annoyed at this noncommittal answer.

"Stop playing for time and answer the question, coward marimo."

Zoro paused, shaking his head and gathering his thoughts before opening his eyes again. _Answer honestly... duh._

"I guess I have. I think." Curiously, it felt awkward, discussing such an intimate topic with Sanji. "Somehow."

The cook turned his head towards him, a slightly befuddled look on his face.

"You guess? _Somehow_? What kind of response is that? You have or you haven't." He sighed. "But I should have known you couldn't even figure out something so simple, meat-head."

"It's not that easy." Zoro replied, eying the cook through narrowed eyes and feeling more and more awkward, as well as aggravated at the other's constant mood fluctuations. He was being honest here, just as that asshole had asked. _Serves me right, trying to help him._ "But maybe you haven't realized that yet, since you spend too much time stalking after innocent girls, you perverted skirt-chaser." He added, before letting out a dismissive snort, to add weight to his next statement. "It's hard to fall in love when you think with your dick."

"What?" The cook shouted, in a voice that sounded more offended and hurt than angry. "I'm not like that! I..."

He stopped. One more unusual thing to add to the list. That idiot was usually witty as fuck. But Zoro was certainly not going to feel guilty about hurting his feelings.

"Shit." The cook soon went on. "I may have several flaws, but you really don't know who I am, if you believe, even for a second, that I think with my dick. I'm not like that." He repeated, in a gruff, soft voice Zoro almost didn't recognize.

_Ah_. So Zoro was feeling a bit guilty, after all. But at least, he wasn't going to let the shit-cook notice.

The other sighed again, and soon broke the silence, shaking his head slowly.

"It's not that surprising, actually. We always shout at each other. We never talk." He left the railing, turning towards Zoro, his narrowed blue eye peering at him with a peculiar intensity. "Maybe we should try actual talking, every once in a while."

"And whose fault do you think it is that we always end up arguing over every small thing?" Zoro retorted dryly.

Yet another sigh. "You know what? Forget I ever asked you anything, moss-head."

The shit-cook somewhat irritatedly jerked his cigarette butt over the railing, and started towards the galley's back door. Zoro thought his shoulders were slightly slumped, and before he realized what he was doing, he called for the guy.

"Wait."

The cook stopped and turned around, eying Zoro coldly.

"What do you want, marimo?"

Zoro refrained from shifting uncomfortably as the other's blue gaze scrutinized him, unwilling to bring up his recent strange behavior, but feeling like, as the first mate on this ship, he had to. Especially since Luffy had made it known that he had noticed as well. The cohesion within the crew was at stake. So, he cleared his throat, and slowly formulated his thoughts.

"Luffy thinks you're acting weird." He paused. "Everything alright?"

Sanji's eye widened slightly at these words.

"Huh..." He replied after a moment. "Well, that's nothing you should worry about. Neither should he." He resumed his walk towards the galley, and was soon standing in the open doorway.

"Are you really sure everything's alright?" Zoro asked quickly, before the other could finally seek refuge in his kitchen.

He turned around one more time, and Zoro could see his features had softened ever-so-slightly.

"Yeah. Thanks for your concern, marimo."

He disappeared in the room, the door slowly falling shut behind him.

***

That night, he dreamed of Kuina. He couldn't remember most of the dream when he woke up, a sheen of sweat on his skin and his eyes staring at the empty ceiling above without actually seeing it, but he knew she was involved, somehow. He knew, because, as with every single time he dreamed of her, his mind was filled with thoughts of her. Thoughts of her smile, of her laughter, of the tears she showed him on the day they made a promise to each other, similar to the ones that he had to prevent from spilling from his eyes as he realized it had only been a dream.

As he turned on the rug, unable to fall asleep again and lost in his thoughts, his eyes absentmindedly fell on the peacefully sleeping cook, a few feet away, remembering the question he had asked him earlier. Certainly, he had been too young, back then, to comprehend what it was he had been feeling for her. Too young to recognize it might have been love, or its first signs, in all their innocence and awkwardness. Maybe even too young to really be able to fall in love properly. But he realized now that, if she had lived just a bit longer, he might have done just that, eventually. What he felt for her as a kid was a mix of admiration and envy that, surely, would have ended up turning into longing, and maybe more. But life was unfair. She died, and now, he'd never know.

He finally succeeded in dozing off again, and right before he did, one last thought came to his mind.

Maybe he should have told the cook.

***

Later that week, he was looking up at the starry sky, laying in the crow's nest. Nami was pressing her naked body against his own, both reveling in their respective afterglows.

He was thinking, once again, about the cook. He had been thinking a lot, lately, which was unusual for him, and the fact his thoughts were mostly connected to that stupid question the idiot had asked him irked Zoro to no end. But he also had to admit that the whole thing disturbed him. What had prompted the cook to ask him, of all people, such a personal question? That shit-head had never shown any interest in his private life. Was it just curiosity? But why now? What had changed? And if it wasn't curiosity, then... what? After turning and tossing the thought in his head for days, Zoro had finally come to the conclusion that the cook might have fallen in love recently, and that it might be a first for him. It was logical, in a way. Despite his vehement denial during their conversation, since Zoro had known him, that pervert would fawn over every girl he met, unable to settle on one. In that situation, real, genuine, exclusive love might cause questioning in the shit-cook, and maybe even trouble him to the point it would alter his behavior.

The more Zoro thought about it, the more he believed he had figured it out.

But then, who was the perverted idiot in love with? Nami? That would be a rather sudden occurrence, about someone he had been around for months before the change happened, and after thinking about it for a while, he had discarded the idea. Robin? Might be, since she was a recent addition to their crew. Or Vivi? They were separated at the same time Robin joined them, which might have opened the cook's eyes about his feelings for her. But all these hypotheses seemed so unlikely to Zoro. In the end, he was unable to figure out who it was the shit-cook was in love with – if he wasn't mistaken about the whole thing – and he was certainly not asking the him directly.

Whatever. In the end, it wasn't his business, anyway.

He sighed, and looked at Nami, who was shifting next to him him. She was now gathering her discarded clothes, putting them on one after the other, and would soon leave. She never lingered when they were done, and he hated to admit that it made him feel uneasy. Not that their relationship of sorts was anything serious, and he was certainly not feeling anything for her more than he would feel for another of his nakama. But he had come to discover, after these few weeks, that he disliked being left alone after having sex. It made him feel empty. Nami, however, didn't seem to mind, and he was certainly not going to tell her about what he thought of as a silly weakness.

Yet, as she was sliding her arms into the sleeves of another of the cook's shirt – and Zoro wondered how she came to wear them in bed to begin with – in a graceful motion, he felt something bubble up in his chest. There was nothing he could say or do to make her stay, he knew that. Nevertheless, he didn't want to part like that, even if it was temporary. Not with only a few flat, hollow words, as usual, or worse, silently, as it sometimes happened.

He ended up finding himself wondering what the ero-cook would say in a similar situation. If that idiot had one thing for him, it was his wits, and he was never devoid of sharp retorts. His usual self, that is. He closed his eyes, and sighed.

_What a stupid question._

Nami, who was just done buttoning up the cook's shirt and about to leave, stood up. Before he realized what he was doing, his parted lips and words came out of their own volition.

"She died."

He opened his eyes as she was turning back, eying him peculiarly, her left eyebrow raised in an interrogative fashion. He looked at her, conscientiously relaxing his face in order to prevent himself from showing how surprised, how unprepared he was to hear his own words. He hadn't planned to tell her, and didn't understand how these very words had escaped from his treacherous mouth to begin with. But it was too late now, and he had to explain himself. He hoped she wouldn't question him further about it.

"My first love." He averted his eyes and stared at the starry sky. "You wanted to know."

"Oh."

Her face was unreadable.

She sat back, and he felt subtle, warm pressure on his hand.

"I'm sorry." She said in a soft, gentle voice.

He looked at her face, and there it was again, that strange, foreign feeling. He slightly pressed her hand back, and licked his lips before talking again.

"Don't be."


	7. Fever steam girl throb the ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This must be a dream, he thought. But the thought soon disappeared from his mind entirely, leaving him with nothing more than the faintly glowing trees, the overwhelming feeling in his chest, and the pressing urgency in his gut.

The buildings were tall and dark. Ominous-looking clouds were looming over the high structures in the gray twilight sky. There were a few passers-by, but he couldn't see their faces in the subdued, murky dusk lighting. Not that he cared, anyway. He was focusing on something else, entirely.

He was headed for some place, but he couldn't remember where it was located, nor what it looked like, or what it was called. He did know, however, that if he kept going forward, he'd reach that place, eventually, with an uncanny certainty that could only come from what would be accurately described as knowledge. Where this knowledge came from, he had no idea.

Someone was waiting for him there. Yet another bit of knowledge he couldn't trace back.

He had been walking for what felt like quite some time now. Despite his unwavering trust that he would end up reaching the place, he was starting to wonder, with an increasing feeling of dread, about what would happen, if never never got there. He now remembered he had something to tell the person who was waiting. Something important. So important, actually, that he nearly felt as if it was a matter of life or death – his own, weirdly enough. Curiously, at the same time, merely thinking of telling them made his heart race, his chest heaving with a foreign, intense, overwhelming sensation, that felt a little like drowning. Or falling, maybe. Yet, in his somewhat dazed state, he couldn't remember what was so important that he'd run about in the rapidly fading dusk light without knowing where he was going, just to tell someone whose face he couldn't even make out, in his foggy memories.

But, yeah. He reckoned it might be important enough.

Somehow, it scared him. That person might just rot away waiting for him if he took too long. He also felt terrified at the thought of actually telling them. But they counted on him, and he wouldn't let them down.

It scared him, and it was unfair, but he just couldn't.

So, he walked, and the further he went, the more lost he felt. He didn't recognize the buildings around him anymore. Not that he did to begin with, but the feeling was growing steadily. The scarce people in the streets looked dark and gloomy, and he couldn't make out their faces, which prevented him from asking for the way. It made him feel like a lost child, something he hadn't come to feel for years.

Soon, those lonely figures vanished entirely. As he time passed, he started noticing the buildings were growing scarcer and scarcer, slowly replaced by gigantic, fruit-bearing trees. He could see them in the distance, seemingly miles away from the ground he was standing on. These fruits were glowing with a soft, warm light in the falling night. An opaque, fuzzy fog was rising from the damp ground.

He was slowly but surely entering a dark, thick forest.

He almost jumped when, as he passed by the last building, the tall structure let out a howling sound, akin to a loud cry of pain and despair. Before long, black roots and branches erupted from its windows, the newborn, rapidly growing tree soon engulfing it into dark foliage. When the howling receded, he knew for a fact, deep within himself, that some kind of life, that had been sustaining the building until then, was gone.

_This must be a dream_ , he thought. But the thought soon disappeared from his mind entirely, leaving him with nothing more than the faintly glowing trees, the overwhelming feeling in his chest, and the pressing urgency in his gut. He had to go on.

He soon reached the tallest tree, the knowledge it was at the center of this forest slowly sinking into his mind. He didn't know how he came to understand that, but it didn't matter. Within its trunk was a large hole, that reminded him of a large gaping mouth, ready to swallow him, and everything else around. But he wasn't really scared, not by that, because he now remembered that this was the place he had been looking for. The person he was meeting was there, waiting for him. So, he braced himself and stepped into the dark, hollow tree.

The inside was pitch dark. It took some time for his eyes to adjust to the surrounding lack of light, but soon enough, he could make out the space enclosed in the tree's trunk. It should have been small, but he now realized he was stepping into what looked like a big cave, as large as a cathedral. The air was cold, and he could faintly hear water dripping from some secluded corner. Each falling drop produced a lonely echo, reverberating across the whole empty space.

Over there, on the opposite end, someone was sitting on the ground, their arms circling their folded legs, face buried against their knees. As he walked towards them, he noticed a faint light coming from above. He raised his head, and looked up. He realized the whole tree was hollow, and the light was coming from the faraway fruits, dangling from the high branches. He looked at the person over there, and briefly wondered if it was because of the orange light that their hair looked like that. Yet, as the light grew a tad stringer, he realized that he wasn't mistaken. Nami was sitting there, her ginger hair falling in over her face and obscuring it completely.

He quickened his pace and soon reached her position, kneeling next to her. He had to tell her. He had to say it now, or it would be too late, and everything he had given up to get there, every sacrifice he had to make until now, everything would have been useless. He opened his mouth and said her name, but couldn't make out any sound. Had he spoken? He knew he did, and yet, he was unable to hear his own voice.

_Nami? Nami, can you hear me?_

The surrounding atmosphere, thick with emptiness, effectively smothered every sound he tried to make. He thought that, if she didn't look up and watch him as he talked, he would be unable to convey his feelings. He had to make her look at him, whatever it took.

So, he put his hands on her shoulders and shook her slightly, increasing the pressure a bit when there was no response. He was starting to feel very uneasy, her lack of reaction and the coldness he could feel through her clothing's light fabric reminding him of the dream he had of the cook, some time ago.

As this thought went through his mind, she suddenly raised her head, and looked up at him. Relief washed through him, but he soon realized her eyes were puffy, and rimmed with reddened skin. She had obviously been crying. Somehow, he knew he was the cause for her tears, and tremendous guilt engulfed him.

_Nami._

It was very unlike him to feel that way, but he didn't care anymore what anyone would think. The only thing that counted was what she thought. But she still didn't seem to hear him.

_Nami, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

As the light above them grew brighter, he realized something wasn't right. Her eyes weren't their usual hazel color. He gasped when he could finally make out that, instead, they were a bright, clear blue.

This person, whoever it was, was certainly not Nami.

He incredulously looked at a single teardrop, which was slowly running down her cheek, before briskly trying to put some distance between that stranger and himself. But the other wouldn't let him, grabbing at his collar in a swift, forward motion, and overthrowing him, making him lose his balance.

He fell backwards and soon found himself laying on the earthy ground, straddled by the tall figure, whose darkened face was dangerously hovering inches from his. He closed his eyes, waiting for the first blow – _and where were his swords, dammit?_ But it didn't come. He slowly opened his eyes, finding himself surrounded by a blindingly bright light. Over him, he could see the deep blue sky – _just like Sanji's eyes_ – and he felt wooden planks in his back.

_The ship?_

He slowly raised his head to look at the stranger, whose weight he could still feel on his body, as well as the softening pull on his shirt's collar. All he could make out for now was light blond hair, but before long, the other raised their head from his chest.

He froze when he realized that this was no stranger at all. The cook was looking at him through red-rimmed eyes, anger shining fiercely inside these bright blue irises, glazed over with unrestrained tears. The hold on his shirt's collar tightened again, before the other opened his mouth and started to shout.

" _Why..._ " His voice resounded in his mind, sounding unusually tight. " _Why are you doing this to me, dumbass marimo?_ "

Zoro nearly gasped when the cook suddenly relaxed his grip on his shirt again. In a slow move that screamed of defeat, he let his tightly clenched fist fall to the wooden planks right next to his head, knuckles brushing against his cheek, causing warmth to sink into his skin. More tears ran down the other's face. The overwhelmed look in his eyes betrayed an intense, unnamed emotion that made something in Zoro's gut jolt. He barely registered when the hand against his jaw unfolded and warm fingers started grazing against his neck, as the cook rested his forehead on his chest.

" _Why are you doing this to me?_ " Sanji repeated, his words muffled. Zoro could feel his nose and lips faintly brushing against his skin as he spoke.

He was overthrown with the intense _pain_ he could hear in this broken voice that barely sounded like the cook at all. Before he could think about what had prompted such distress, but guessing – somehow _knowing_ he was the cause, he buried his own hand in those golden locks, and lightly pressed the other's head against him in a comforting gesture. His hair felt soft as he caressed the back of the cook's head, pleasantly smooth like a handful of silk in-between his fingers.

_Sanji, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. I..._

Slowly, the cook raised his head and looked at him and Zoro felt overwhelmed by their color. They were so _blue_ he couldn't tell whether they reflected the sky's color, or if the sky actually reflected theirs. However, he didn't have much time to dwell on it, as the cook closed the distance between them and smooth, soft lips smothered his own, a distinct tangerine smell filling his nostrils.

Utterly shocked, as well as thoroughly paralyzed at the thought of what was happening, he started to choke.

***

He woke up with a start in the dark, gasping for air and covered in sweat, slightly panicking when he realized the lips against his own were perfectly real, as well as the weight on his chest. But before he could fully react, or start wrestling to escape from his unknown assailant's embrace, the moist flesh retreated from his own.

"I should charge you for sleeping beneath Bellemere's trees."

Blinking dazedly, he finally recognized Nami's voice, whom he could see now, in the subdued night light. She was straddling his hips, hands light on his shoulders, and eying him with an expectant smile on her face. He surveyed their surroundings, and remembered. He had fallen asleep in the tangerine orchard, in the late afternoon. And, judging by the color of the sky, it was now quite late, and he had skipped dinner.

He relaxed in her embrace with the ease of habit, noticing he had his hand buried in her hair, just as it had been earlier, in the cook's blond strands. He must have acted in his sleep, confusing the dream and reality in an half-awake state. Which also explained that weird kiss with the shit-cook, of all people. His brain, registering that someone was kissing him, had twisted the dream to add some logic to the physical stimulus.

Zoro shook his head to dispel this disturbing image and shivered, despite the surrounding warmth. He felt terrible. It was as if there was some hollow space within him that desperately needed to be filled. Strangely, the dream was eerily similar to another dream he had weeks earlier, right after Nami started this thing between them. He barely remembered it now, but he was pretty sure he never got to reach what he had been looking for, back then, waking up before he could do so.

_It was just a dream..._ He told himself. And yet, that though brought him no comfort.

"Hey! Are you still asleep, or what?" Nami was poking a small, gentle finger between his eyebrows.

He shot her a absentminded glance, not really seeing her, his mind still on the dream and its disturbing end.

"I'm awake." He slowly answered after a while, in a hoarse voice.

It wasn't getting better. The hollow in his chest almost felt like it was growing, and he hated it. Before he knew it, his arms were circling her, and he was pressing her against him, burying his head in her neck, reluctantly admitting that he needed some kind of comfort. What was wrong with him? The whole guilt he had felt in the dream, he could understand, considering his recent thoughts on the current situation. He could also put the blame on Nami and his mind's confusion of the dream with reality, as far as the kiss went. It didn't unsettle him in the least. Not even the sudden empathetic feelings did. He felt that way on regular occasions with his other crew-mates, so, why not with the cook? It wasn't anything new, even though it had been rather intense, which slightly surprised him. It was the cook, after all.

But what was with his own reaction to such intensity? That wasn't like him at all. He could almost feel the sensation of these soft, blond strands of hair, lingering against his fingertips, currently brushing against the short ginger locks in Nami's neck. They were just as soft. He tightened his embrace and closed his eyes, once again overwhelmed by the unknown feeling.

"Are you sure everything's alright?" She stirred, gently freeing herself from his seemingly smothering hug and leaning back, a slight frown on her face.

He stared at her, and felt something relaxing within himself. Even in the dark, he knew here eyes were the usual soft brown. He felt a small, genuinely relieved smile bloom on his face, and was unable to repress it, but it didn't really matter to him right now.

"Hey?" She asked, when he didn't reply. She was now looking at him thoughtfully, slightly biting her lower lip. He corked an interrogative eyebrow at her pensive look, the smile lingering on his lips.

"Hmm?"

"Should I be jealous?" She asked.

"... Huh?" Zoro didn't understand what she meant, but this reprieve was short lived. Her next words left no ambiguity about what she meant, catching him unawares.

"You called Sanji's name right before waking up."

Even though his mind was still a bit fuzzy from sleep, as soon as he got to process what she'd just said, he couldn't prevent his whole body from tensing. She smirked, and for some reason, the way she was eying him was slightly unsettling. His own smile was all but gone.

"I... What?"

"You called his name." Her smirk widened. "So, should I be jealous?"

Zoro felt his stomach sink. What? _What?_ Had he really said the cook's name out loud while sleeping? He wouldn't have been surprised if he did, after the dream he just had. But he didn't need anyone to find out. Before he could even think about it, words escaped from his mouth.

"Hah? Jealous? Of the shit-cook?" He replied, in a voice that sounded awfully high-pitched to his own ears, especially compared to his usual gravelly baritone. "Bullshit!"

As soon as he let the words out, he realized that such a vehement denial would only serve to confirm that whatever it was that she was trying to prove existed was there. But was it, really? And what was it, anyway? He was at a loss as to why he was reacting so abruptly. He hoped she didn't notice how unsettled her questioning made him feel.

She let out a low chuckle, and stretched a hand to gently brush a finger against his nose.

"Sounds like I hit the nail."

_Tough luck._

He narrow his eyes and managed to muffle most of the unusual panic that was taking hold of his gut. Why was she insisting so much? And why was he so sensitive to her teasing, all of a sudden? Breathing deeply, he forced his tense muscles to relax, and shook his head slowly, before letting out a subdued sigh.

"... What are you imagining?"

That smug smile still on her face, she raised a cocky eyebrow at him and snorted.

"Oh. You want me to believe there's absolutely nothing going on? When you were _moaning_ his name?"

He almost chocked at her last words, his newly regained composure failing him yet again.

"I wasn't _moaning_ , you witch." He replied dryly, glaring at her and feeling irritated at what she was implying.

"Right. Then, I guess you won't find _that_ interesting." She started tracing small circles on his bare chest with that same finger.

"?"

"You've skipped dinner."

"Yeah. And?"

"He hasn't gone to bed yet, and it's past midnight."

"... And? That's none of my business."

Nami chuckled again, and he narrowed his eyes. He hated the sound of her laughter. Was she mocking him or...?

"What now?"

She raised her slender finger again and pointed it right at his nose, before tapping its tip repeatedly to increase her words' impact.

"How much would you bet..." _Poke._ "... that he's been waiting for you..." _Poke._ "... all..." _Poke._ "... this..." _Poke._ "... time?"

Zoro grabbed her hand to make her stop. Damn it, she was so aggravating when she did that. He let out an exasperated sigh through clenched teeth. This conversation was getting them nowhere.

"Bullshit. And I'm not betting." He replied, not willing to increase his debt again. But, right after the words died down, drowned in the usual comforting sound of the quiet water around the ship, he started to ponder what she had just said.

Was the cook really waiting for him?

_Nah. Definitely not. Why would he do that, anyway? He doesn't care._

Images from their recent conversation flashed in his mind.

_… He doesn't, right? If he really did, he would have tried to wake me up for diner... most likely with a kick in my face, anyway. Yeah, there's no way. Definitely._

"I don't care." He said out loud, more as a reply to his own thoughts than for Nami's benefit – which she didn't need to know.

He should have known she wouldn't leave it at that.

He almost jumped when he suddenly felt a small hand pressing against his cock, which he now realized was quite hard. _Shit._ When and how did this happen?

"Interesting." She whispered.

Again, she was implying things he didn't even want to start thinking about. He managed to let out a very nervous sounding chuckle.

"I just woke up. What did you expect?"

"I wonder." She replied, nevertheless not stopping what she was doing.

He looked up at Nami, who was grinning at him with a somewhat carnivorous smile. She looked like she had just managed to eat the cake and still have it. And gotten to do the baker as a side service, all for free.

No, _wait_. Scrap that. There was no way he was starting to associate anything close to sex with food, chefs, bakers, or any sort of cooks. Ever. Especially not right now.

As he was glaring at her, trying to decipher the look that was plastered all over her face and hating what he was finding, her warm hand was already sneaking under his haramaki and fumbling to open his pants.

"Since you don't care, I assume you won't mind." She was positively sniggering now.

She slid her hand into his underwear, and got a good hold of his cock. He let out a muffled sigh at the sensation of her fingers, brushing softly against his length. Soon after that, her mouth was on his collarbone, leaving wet trails up his neck. He wanted to say no, but he was starting think that, maybe, this was exactly what he needed to take his mind off other things. Yet, something kept nagging him, in the back of his mind. Something that Nami had said earlier. Something about...

"Oi."

He grabbed her hand and forced it out of his pants, before looking at her sternly, he hoped, to disguise his incredulity at what she was about to do.

"Isn't the cook still in there?" He pointed at the orchard's ground, which was, very inconveniently, located right on top of the galley.

She smiled widely.

_What the hell!_

"And aren't you supposed to be on watch, anyway?" He tried his best not to sound too desperate.

She shrugged.

Zoro glared at her. _There goes nothing_ , he thought. She was doing that same thing again, uncaring of the consequences, damn her. Initiating thing when someone was nearby, _someone_ happening to be the cook, once more. But this time, they weren't even in the crow's nest, where they'd be discovered only if they started being vocal during their nightly activities. They were laying among the tangerine trees, right on top of Sanji's head, or nearly. Not only would he hear any sound they made, even if their respective mouths stayed shut, but also every shifting, every knock on the floor caused by overly enthusiastic thrusting...

He didn't even want to start thinking about it, but he had to, because there was no way they wouldn't be found out. And thus, there was no way Zoro was complying, not so soon after realizing that their affair might hurt the cook – even if he didn't think it would, but heh, you never know. Especially not after having such a weird dream, as he was still feeling lingering guilt. And especially not when it looked like Nami was doing this on purpose to annoy him.

He only had one single chance to escape her scheming. He braced his muscles, preparing himself to run away. But Nami probably felt him tense under her, and right as he started shifting to untangle himself from her, she latched at him, making them both lose their balance. They fell on the floor with a loud thud.

"What do you think you're doing, witch? Let go!" Zoro whispered angrily, squirming between Nami's delicate yet immensely strong arms, which were firmly circled around his waist.

"Shhh!" Her tone was casual, as much as it could be, since she was whispering as well, and struggling to keep her hold on him, her head resting on his stomach. "Calm down. You really want him to come out and see what it is that we're doing out there, at this time of the night?"

"I –" Zoro almost shouted out loud, restraining his voice at the last moment. "Whatever! I'm not doing _this_." He added through clenched teeth, in a lower voice.

"And why not, if you don't care?" She asked quietly. "What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not –"

But he found himself unable to go on, as her lips rushed to meet his, her tongue forcing its way into his mouth before he could complete his sentence. Before he knew it, her hand was back in his pants, molesting his cock with a fervor that would have shut him up anyway. He stilled, trying to keep his urges in check, only to fail miserably. When did he ever start being so weak to her touch? When did his hormones get on top of his reason, when did they get to overcome his willpower?

How could he let this happen to begin with?

He shuddered when a particularly well-placed caress sent fire through his whole body, and refrained from letting out a loud groan. A thousand thoughts were rushing through his brain as she yanked his pants down his hips to get better access.

_Get a grip, dammit! How can you even think of becoming the best swordsman in the world if you can't even fight a frail girl? If you can't even fight yourself?_

_She's far from frail, and you know that perfectly._

She was kissing his abdomen while her hand swiftly stroked his cock, sending shivers down his spine.

_Are you gonna let her do as she pleases? When you don't want this? When the shit-cook's right under your feet?_

She went down on him and his mind momentarily went blank, his thoughts all but interrupted. Her lips were brushing around his cock's tip, while one of her hands was, simultaneously, teasingly pinching his right nipple. It took a moment for his mind to resume its rambling, rendered hazy by the fact his body was now focusing on the overwhelming physical sensations against his own will.

_Why so weak? Why can't I resist her?_

_No, I definitely want this. I don't want her to stop._

_But_ he _'s gonna hear us..._

_Shit. Shit shit shit SHIT._

Maybe it was caused by the fact they could be discovered any moment from now. Maybe it was the increased sensitivity, right after waking up. They'd never had the chance to have sex after sleeping – Zoro usually dozed off _after_ they were done, and she was usually gone by then. Or maybe it was the fact he was trying to restrain himself harder than he had ever done.

But the fact was that he was reaching climax faster than usual. It felt good, so good, he couldn't even think anymore. His inner conflict died out, and, unable to properly resist her, overwhelmed by the intense sensations he was feeling, utterly defeated, he finally stopped trying. He intertwined his fingers with her hair, applying a gentle pressure, and could feel her lips stretch in a smug smile around him as he trusted into her mouth with what he hated to call abandon. But he honestly had to admit it was, in the end. He felt vanquished.

Desire, and the longing for contact and companionship, after that stupid dream, were stronger.

He almost groaned painfully when her mouth left his cock, but still managed to refrain from doing so. Yet, he didn't have time to protest, or wait for her to resume her ministrations. Seconds later, she was already straddling him, grabbing his cock with a steady hand and brushing its tip against her wet folds – he didn't even know when she got to remove her underwear, or if she was wandering around the ship without it either. His eyes scrunched in bliss, and air caught into his throat, as he prepared himself for the very welcome sensation. She was almost starting to slide down his length when the sound of a closing door was heard.

She stilled at once.

Zoro's eyes snapped open in the surrounding night. Nami's face was frozen in an intense expression, eyes narrowed and her lower lip pressed between her teeth. She was beautiful, at that very moment, and he realized how much he wanted her. His desire for her overwhelmed him, and he almost gave in despite the risk of being found out. But the moment he was bracing his abdominal muscles to overthrow her and proceed further, a faint smoke smell reached his nostrils.

_Oh shit._

He slowly let out the breath he was holding, trying to do it as silently as possible, closing his eyes and trying to steady his racing heartbeats. He looked up at Nami once more, and she was looking towards the edge of the galley's roof, where a couple lazy smoke swirls were coming from, in the dim light. Obviously, the shit-cook was out there. Fortunately enough, he exited the room by the front door, not the back. If he had done so, he might have seen them right away, which would have been an utter disaster. He clenched his teeth.

_That moronic, shitty ero-cook. Damn him._

They stood still, waiting to see if he'd move or leave, for what felt like hours, but actually wasn't even a full minute. But the cook didn't seem to plan on leaving his spot anytime soon. Stupid guy was probably smoking leisurely, leaning on the wooden railing, effectively preventing them from doing anything. Of course, they were unable to finish what they were previously doing, and Zoro's frustration was reaching heights he never imagined it could. But they couldn't even move or leave either, because that idiot would notice someone was there.

It was the worst. Zoro felt terrible. He was all but going soft between Nami's fingers, who was still hovering above his length. He was too far gone for his body to give up entirely, and he was utterly aggravated by the sudden intrusion, that prevented him to get the relief he needed right now. His mind was blank, stressed under too much frustration and irritation to really focus on either. He forced his breathing to quiet, and focused on the fact the cook was there, mere feet from them, hoping it would help his urges to calm down.

Damn it. Damn it all. And yet, while he was utterly annoyed, he couldn't help but be thankful for that occurrence, at the same time. Either way, Zoro couldn't afford to act selfishly right now, as much as he couldn't let Nami do as she pleased. It was way too risky. In the end, the cook's intrusion was a good reminder of the possible outcome. And who knew where it would have ended if he hadn't come out of the galley at that precise time? Zoro didn't even want to think about it.

A sigh resounded, awfully loud in the surrounding silence, which until now was only disturbed by the sea's quiet lapping around them, and the occasional creaking of some stressed wooden ship part.

That sound succeeded where his slow breathing and concentration failed, probably more effectively than they could have. It also helped that Nami shifted, sitting lightly on his thighs, her fingers leaving his slowly softening cock. His desire receded a bit, still strong but now manageable, and Zoro found himself absentmindedly wondering if the shit-cook was sulking again, in the far back of his mind. As for Nami, their crew-mate's presence seemed to have a similar effect on her. She wasn't moving anymore, listening to the faint sounds the cook was making from beneath, occasional shiftings and sighs, and slow smoke exhales accompanied by a reinforced smell each time.

Minutes stretched, and after a while, Zoro could tell he was done smoking – the smell was getting fainter and fainter. All the waiting was starting to take its toll on him. His gut was so tense it almost hurt. But the shitty cook wasn't leaving.

_Come on, curly-brow. Leave already._

After waiting for such a long time – which really was only about ten minutes, at most – in nearly complete silence, he nearly jumped when the guy suddenly started humming a terribly off key tune, in a subdued voice. Not that he could have done so, actually. Nami was no heavy weight, but she had been sitting on his thighs for a few minutes, and he couldn't feel the lower part of his legs anymore.

It felt strange. Sanji was definitely no talented singer. Nevertheless, Zoro found himself slowly relaxing to the smooth sound of his nakama's raspy, light baritone. He frowned, troubled by a subtle change in the atmosphere. What the fuck was it with the touching way the cook was awkwardly shelling the notes of this unknown, wordless song one by one, as he thought nobody was around? He never heard him doing something like that before. And it never affected him the way it did now. Why, for fuck's sake? How come it made him feel so utterly empathetic all of a sudden? A gut-wrenching feeling was steadily taking hold of him. Was it because of the dream? He doubted it. The cook couldn't hold a note properly, and yet, even though Zoro knew nothing of music, he felt some kind of nostalgic feeling, conveyed by the other's muffled voice more effectively than anything ever could. It was so poignant, the clumsy way he was singing, that somehow, Zoro could almost touch the other's longing, seeping with his wavering voice through closed lips.

It was so strange and confusing. What was the undefinable feeling, so intense that Zoro could almost feel it himself, that prompted such a terrible, yet heartfelt humming? Was it love, like he had assumed some time ago, real love, as well as all its share of loneliness and pain if it were to prove unrequited? He couldn't tell. All he knew was that he felt that same hollow feeling, as the cook finally hummed the last notes of the song. He shook his head to dissipate the weird effect the other's singing had on him, only partly succeeding.

After a short moment, though, the cook could be heard sighing a last time, and the wooden floor creaked. He was leaving. Soft footsteps gradually retreated, and soon, they could hear the hatch leading to the men's cabin opening, and then, closing slowly. That idiot had finally gone to bed. Zoro let out a long, relieved breath and closed his eyes.

When he opened them and glanced up at Nami, she was looking at her hands, which were resting in her lap. What he immediately realized was confusion could be seen on her face, and he thought that maybe she had felt the same as he did, while the cook was humming. He cleared his throat, and he felt her tense a bit as she raised her eyes to meet his.

The weird feeling was lingering in his chest, which might explain that, when he talked, he was whispering, despite the fact they were now alone.

"I can't feel my legs."

She startled at the sound of his voice, and swiftly got up.

"Sorry." She mumbled in a low, subdued voice, averting her eyes.

She still looked more than a little confused. Feeling guilty, maybe? Zoro couldn't really pinpoint it, as he slowly followed her and stood up, blood slowly flowing through his wobbly legs, making them prickle. He looked at her and sighed.

"At least we weren't found out." He scratched his temple.

"Yeah." She replied absentmindedly, a frown obscuring her pretty eyes.

She was obviously worrying about something. He wanted to ask, but the way she avoided his eyes made him feel that it had something to do with him, and he didn't know how to get her to tell him about it. They were quiet for a few seconds that seemed to stretch, before Zoro, feeling unusually awkward and uncomfortable, broke the silence again.

"That was rather strange."

It was a clumsy way to tackle the matter, he reckoned, but he didn't want to beat around the bush. It wasn't in his nature to do so, just as much as he never felt awkward or uneasy. Usually, that is.

Nami didn't reply. She was turned away from him, and he could see her back was tense. He crossed the few steps between them and put a light hand on her shoulder, trying to brush aside his uneasiness. She jumped nervously at the contact, which prompted him to remove the offending limb. Why was she so reluctant now, after being all touchy-feely, mere minutes earlier? He didn't understand, and it made him feel utterly inadequate, which added to his current confusion. However, he respected that. He wouldn't try to touch her further if she didn't want him to.

"I'd better go." She finally said after a while.

Zoro tensed a bit, then sighed, scratching his head.

"Ok."

She looked up at him, and there was sadness in her eyes.

"Goodnight." She whispered. And then, she left.

He stood there for a moment, bewildered, silently watching her climb the rope ladder leading to the crow's nest.

He didn't understand what was wrong with her. He didn't get what was wrong with the cook either. Or with himself. He didn't understand at all, and it made him feel lost. The lingering frustration didn't help either. He didn't think he would be able to sleep, so, he slowly headed towards the galley.

Maybe some booze would help.


	8. Threads that are golden don't break easily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curiously, Zoro misses the bickering even more than the fights.

There's a moment, while one is on watch in the crow's nest, in the quiet, warm air surrounding summer islands, when the mind is free to ponder on recent, unusual occurrences.

Sitting against the railing, and occasionally sipping on the sake bottle in his hand, watching the night sky, the bright moon, and trying not to think about one of his crew-mates, whose behavior he has trouble understanding lately, Zoro is waiting. Waiting for Nami to show up, as usual. She's a bit late, even though they never really decided on a specific time for their meetings. Whenever he's on watch, she ends up joining him, at some point. That's all he needs to know, but after what happened the last time they were together... No, he's not worried, not at all. He knows she will come.

She always does.

He's been waiting for maybe three hours now, and by then, she's usually joined him. But for now, there's no sign of her. He's wondering what happened to make her that late, allowing himself to sigh faintly in the warm night air – nobody's there to see, anyway. Did Robin fail to fall asleep as she usually does? Reading a book late, maybe? Nami could have dozed off while waiting for the right time to leave the girls' cabin, but Zoro doubts it. She's a very light sleeper, as he came to realize in the past couple of months – already two months, Zoro muses, scratching his calf absentmindedly. Maybe she decided to make him wait a little more than usual, this time, that clever, shrewd girl. Way too subtle for her own well-being. Because waiting that much sure does wonders to his expectancy.

Or maybe she decided not to come at all.

He grunts and incredulously discards the thought. He gazes at the Milky Way, high above him in the cloudless night sky. The air is warm, and this is the perfect time for secret, stolen moments of lustful contentment. He smirks. She wouldn't waste such a perfect opportunity, especially when it comes to stealing things. Definitely not.

Despite his own reassurance that she will come, eventually, he almost flinches – almost, but he doesn't – when he thinks about the last time they were together, and the way things turned out after that. That was a weird and awkward occurrence. But surely, she wouldn't be put off by that... Right?

He forces himself to relax. But as he reminisces about that night, the shit-cook's pitiful singing rushes at the front of his thoughts, against his own will.

He still can't understand why he reacted so strongly, or why, since then, he can't help but wonder what the cook's trouble might be. Not that he's obsessed with that thought, far from it. But he occasionally catches himself reflecting upon it, and it bothers him. He doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't need to think about it. But the thought has invaded his mind, and every once in a while, it won't leave him alone.

Zoro reckons that he thinks about the shit-cook a lot more than he should.

In particular, while he can hear his crew-mate's soft voice as clearly as if he was singing it at this very moment, it's the cook's image, slouching over the railing in front of the galley, that he sees whenever he closes his eyes. His blond, soft looking hair, flowing in the mild breeze. That stupid smile, plastered all over his face and so bright when it's there, missing. His expressive, precious blue eyes – he's always admitted, though not to anyone but himself, that the cook has a beautiful eye color, and has always been, begrudgingly, slightly jealous over these blue irises – overcome with melancholy. That's what he can see, when he closes his eyes, when actually, he couldn't even see the guy, hidden behind the edge of the galley's roof, that night.

Zoro has always tried to be honest with himself, as much as possible. Which is why he can admit, at least to himself, even if he doesn't like it, because it's the plain and simple truth, he admits that he has many reasons to be jealous of the cook's looks. Himself is nothing special, even though he's somewhat proud of his physical strength. But he doesn't really care about that, because it's not important. Useless, even. Let the cook worry about his appearance. It's a waste of time, as far as he's concerned.

You are the steps you take, he thinks. Looks don't matter.

Truthfully, he's never thought much of the cook. He's always taken him for granted, somehow, believing his silly demeanor towards the crew – and Zoro himself – would never change. Until now, that idiot has always been acting the same. Pampering the girls and bitching at the guys. Spending an inordinate amount of time, alone in the galley, preparing meals and trying new recipes – or in the bathroom, doing his stupid hair. Smoking cigarette after cigarette, and compulsively munching on quill pens and toothpicks whenever he runs out of smokes. Trying to get on Zoro's nerves on every occasion, and prompting fights whenever he gets the chance. Zoro never minded that. The fights were good, and the preceding verbal sparring, though he needed some time getting accustomed to it at first, since he's never been much of a chatty individual, ended up growing on him. And even though the shit-cook is irritating most of the time, he still accommodates his temperamental crew-mate the best he can. It's worth the pain in the ass the cook proved to be.

But somehow, at some point, the cook's behavior did change. And Zoro finds himself missing these nonsensical fights, which used to disrupt their usual routine and make it more interesting, more effectively than anything else. They rarely fight, these days. They barely even talk, which isn't much of a change. But they don't even bicker anymore. The last time they argued about anything was almost a week ago. He sighs again.

Curiously, Zoro misses the bickering even more than the fights.

One sure thing is that he doesn't understand the cook. He can't even start imagining what's bothering him so much that he won't even try to pick on him. Love? Yeah, might be, but Zoro doesn't think he understands such feelings. And he's not even sure about that. He knows how to decipher what's on the shit-cook's mind most of the time, because that idiot has no self control, and merely looking at his face is like reading an open book. But lately, the cook mostly looks distraught. It's not something Zoro's used to see on that idiot's face.

He has slowly but surely come to the conclusion that, if it bothers him so much to see the cook like that, even though he doesn't even understand why he feels that way, he should help him. Try to understand him, and even if he can't help solving the matter, then, he could always try taking his mind off it. But he doesn't know where to start. It's not something he feels comfortable doing, and he's probably the worst possible person ever to get that kind of help from. Except maybe Luffy. Yeah, Luffy's definitely worse, though, weirdly enough, he seems to be the only one to have noticed the cook's out if it lately, aside from Zoro himself. Who'd still be a bad choice, nevertheless.

Maybe things would be easier if the shit-cook didn't seem to avoid him, too. Even if Zoro decided to talk to him about what's troubling him, that idiot leaves every time he appeared in his vicinity, lately. And maybe they would be easier, if it weren't for his thing, whatever it is, with Nami. He's not looking forwards to the cook finding out about it, which is why he doesn't really mind the latter avoiding him.

Zoro never really thought about what it means to fall in love, until very recently. But if that's really what the cook's problem is, if it does that to people, make them all depressed and gloomy, mere shadows of their former selves, then, he doesn't even want to come close to it. Ever.

As if he could, anyway.

In the end, Zoro can't really do anything about all this. He hates feelings that powerless.

He flinches ever-so-slightly when he realizes he just spent – what, a full hour, maybe? – thinking about the shit-cook. He usually doesn't do that. He doesn't think much to begin with, or at least, tries not to, and certainly not about that guy. But these past few days, despite the fact it happened a couple days ago, already, it seems the cook's terrible, wistful singing, still fresh on his mind, managed to get under his skin. He's tried meditating the previous day, which generally involves getting rid of useless thoughts, clearing up one's mind and leaving it blank, available to fresh ideas and concepts. But all his usually effective concentration skills were negated by his own emotional response to that clumsy humming.

A futile effort.

Lifting his sake bottle to his scowling mouth, he drowns his irritation in a few long gulps. When he's done, the bottle's empty, which has him frowning deeply. He'll need to get another one soon. Fortunately, the cook went to bed earlier. He won't have to wait for that idiot to leave the galley to do so.

But not now, because right now, he's waiting for Nami to show up. So, Zoro keeps waiting.

He keeps waiting, and she's not coming. It's pretty late, now, a mere two hours before his shift ends, and if she doesn't come now, they won't have much time to do anything. Not that he cares, anyway. Yes, it's always been about the sex, but he wouldn't mind just spending some time with her in companionable silence. She's about the only one on this ship whom he can do that with, except maybe for Robin, but he doesn't trust her yet, so it'd be an unfulfilling experience for him. Being on watch alone at night feels awfully lonely, all of a sudden. What if she really decided not to come? He's not worried, not at all, but... Damn. He's gotten used to her presence, after all. It's not surprising that he misses it when she's not there with him.

Still, he doesn't really know what to make of that. That faint feeling of loss, when, some time later, he realizes that there's only half an hour left before Robin will come to take his place. That empty feeling in his chest. He painfully admits that he misses Nami, and more than her embrace, it's her mere presence that he misses. What does that mean? Did he fall for her, just even a little bit, after all? After promising himself that he wouldn't? He doesn't know. All that he knows is that, by now, she won't come anymore. Not tonight, and maybe not ever again.

What disturbs him the most, in the end, is that in the process, he's lost the will to come down the crow's nest, that high, secluded place, to raid the shitty cook's alcohol stock. Well, tough shit, he thinks.

It's when the sun is about to rise that he hears Robin climbing up the rope ladder to take his place on watch. She steps over the railing and stands next to him, and he doesn't even try pretending to be asleep, as he usually is by that time. She eyes him conspicuously, but remains silent when he stands up and brushes past her without a word. He's about to leave when she starts speaking.

"You haven't slept."

He stops, and slowly turns back. Trust Robin to be blunt about things, he thinks. She's standing there, the look on her face undecipherable, peering at him as if appraising some kind of quality he wasn't aware he held. Uneasiness takes hold of his gut, as he is scrutinized by these unfathomable, clever lilac eyes.

After what seems to last for hours, though they stood there for mere seconds, she breaks the silence again.

"Were you waiting for something? Or someone, perhaps?"

He feels his blood freeze in his veins. What did Robin guess of the current situation, exactly? Did Nami tell her anything? Or is she just being her usual perceptive self? He grunts dismissively to hide his discomfort at her perspicacity, and replies in a tone he hopes sounds neutral enough.

"Whatever. None of your business, anyway."

She doesn't display any kind of reaction, but after a while, replies softly.

"Is that so..."

This isn't a question, Zoro notes. He realizes very well that she's not going to take his word for it, but as she falls silent and settles for her shift, he feels grateful that she isn't pressing the issue anymore. Even though he doesn't really trust Robin yet, he knows she won't tell the others about whatever suspicions she might have.

With a faint wave of his hand, he finally leaves the crow's nest, climbs down the mast, and heads for the men's quarters.

After closing the hatch behind him and reaching the floor, he wades through snores of various amplitudes in the dark, careful not to wake up anybody. He doesn't really feel tired right now, but who knows what's waiting for them today? He knows he'll need the few hours of sleep he can get. So, he settles down on the rug, next to the sleeping shit-cook, crosses his arms behind his head, and closes his eyes...

Only to open them again minutes later, definitely unable to doze off. Not that the snoring is preventing him from doing so, no. It never does. He just has too much on his mind. Thoughts of Nami are twirling in his head, in some kind of mesmerizing dance, and it clearly doesn't help.

Why didn't she come? She never missed a chance to bother him – not that he minds – while he was on watch, ever since they started that thing, whatever it is. He can't help but feel like she finally called it off, even though he can't really be sure of that. And they never agreed on anything, or even talked about it, anyway, so what is there to end? Nothing, he reckons. But he also knows he'd be disappointed if – when? – it stops, however surprising it might be to him. And, honestly, it's not even that. He refrains from letting out a deep sigh and settles on trying to fall asleep again, in vain.

He stares at the ceiling for a while, turns around a couple times, before a faint sigh catches his attention, among the dreadful snores from the above hammocks. His eyes fall on the shit-cook's sleeping form next to him. He other's left leg is jerking faintly, convulsively in his sleep, as if trying to shake off some itch. He didn't notice it earlier, but the cook is laying on his side, facing him, which is unusual. He usually lays his back towards him, as if to express his discontentment at having to sleep next to the swordsman, whose guts he hates... or something. Not that Zoro cares. He – usually – has no trouble falling asleep anywhere, and what the shit-cook might be doing at that time doesn't change that fact.

He looks so peaceful, lost in that sleeping daze, Zoro muses absentmindedly. Right now, the cook's eyes are fluttering, as he's dreaming, perhaps, his long eyelashes brushing faintly against his cheeks. Another sigh. He looks strangely content, that lucky fool, resting quietly while himself is unable to find the required peace of mind.

In the end, looking at Sanji's unusually pacified face, while he sleeps, relaxes him. And it's strange, he thinks, but he doesn't dwell on it further, because after a short while, he finds his eyelids growing heavy, finally. Before long, he is asleep.

And that night, he dreams of Nami and the cook again.

***

He's sitting against the ship's railing, and he realizes that this is a dream right away, because once again, he can't hear a sound. But the thought doesn't last, all but forgotten, washed away by an insistent munching sound. He looks around, only to find Luffy sitting a few feet away, gnawing at his precious hat ferociously, like he hasn't eaten for days.

_What the fuck?_

"Yummy..." Luffy mutters, before taking another large chunk of straw in his mouth.

Zoro stretches a hand to stop Luffy from doing that – after all, this is his captain's most precious possession, and even if he's starving, he'd hate to lose it for such a stupid reason. But Luffy bats his hand off.

"Don't worry." He grins. "I'm sure things will be alright!"

He swallows what's left of the straw hat in a single gulp, and licks his lips absentmindedly.

"I know you won't let things get bad. Right, Zoro?"

He chuckles lightly, and his ringing laughter escapes to the infinite blue sky above them, sounding like a billion stars shimmering in daylight. Unheard, but so precious. Already gone. Zoro stands up. Luffy's black hair looks strangely naked without his hat, as he glances up at Zoro's sword, who immediately hovers his hand protectively on Wado's hilt. He won't let his beloved swords get eaten, no matter what Luffy says, even if he uses the "captain's order" excuse. But his captain notices his defiant gesture. At that, he frowns, and Zoro is suddenly filled with an uncanny feeling of dread.

"Hey, Zoro, have you seen Nami?"

He freezes, opens his mouth to reply, and realizes he doesn't know what to say. He hasn't seen Nami lately – _and she left him waiting the whole night, anyway, right?_ He's about to decide whether to tell his captain or not, when his attention is caught by the sound of an affected, superficial-sounding laughter.

He turns around towards the noise's origin. Robin and Usopp are there, and he has to prevent his eyes from widening at the sight. They sure look quite different from when he last saw them.

The sniper is wearing some kind of expensive-looking pants and sleeveless vest, with a white, ruffled shirt that would look a lot more natural on the prissy cook, as well as a big bright fuchsia bow tie that doesn't suit him at all, clashing terribly with his bushy hair and tanned skin. He's also wearing a ridiculous top hat, which is made of what looks like purple silk, red and yellow feather sticking out of its matching satin band. And a monocle, too. How peculiar.

He's sitting at a small, round table with intricate designs on its single, central foot, on the ship's deck. Robin's sitting next to him, and she's wearing an unusually long, frilly skirt, though its creamy brown color is rather tame compared to the sniper's clashing outfit. Her hat, though, has Zoro marveling at its size – it's an intricate design, including white flowers and fake grapes and all other kinds of decorative fruits that look very real to him, completed by a full cornucopia. It also holds feathers of all colors, and what looks like some kind of yellowish gems dangling from the rim, and – is that a Chopper-faced teddy bear in the middle of the messy composition? He doesn't know if it's a piece of art or a monstrosity, but the resemblance sure is uncanny. And what does he know about fashion, anyway?

He looks at them incredulously for a couple seconds, before turning back to Luffy. But Luffy's gone, so he focuses on the overdressed pair. They're currently having tea in delicate porcelain cups, so small they looks like doll ware, and discussing him as if he weren't there.

"So, you see, I asked him if everything was alright, and all he could answer was that is was none of my business." Robin chuckles softly, still managing to sound clever and educated, as she talks about shallow, silly things. "What a bad liar..."

"Yeah." The fanciful sniper replies, after sipping on his teacup in an affected way, his little finger sticking out while he puts it back on the cup his other hand is holding. "He's always been quite bad at it, if you know what I mean."

"Of course, dear. You're quite the expert, after all."

Before he can help it, Zoro winces inwardly, which he knows translates as a slight frown on his face. Obviously, inevitably, these idiots are talking about him. From Usopp, this doesn't really surprise him, but he'd expect more discretion on Robin's part. He grunts. _Whatever._ He never expected her to be the one to play dress-up games with the long-nosed guy to begin with, nor did he expect her to be able to gossip like that – she's way too smart and cold for such shallow banter. But here they are, anyway, and he can only trust what he sees.

He shakes himself from his slightly astonished daze, and approaches those two buffoons.

"Hey, have you –"

But before he can ask them if they know where Nami is – suddenly, her whereabouts feel like a vital piece of information to him – Robin turns towards him and cuts him abruptly.

"Of course, I didn't believe him." She says.

He realizes she's looking at something behind him, through him, as if he was made of air, invisible, and he wonders if she sees him at all. It makes him feel very uncomfortable. She turns back to Usopp, who's biting his lower lip absentmindedly.

"You know, he's got that funny little thing going on with Nami."

The sniper startles, and glances at her nervously.

"O-of course, I know. I wouldn't miss such _obvious_ signs, you know."

Which is a lie, clearly, but Robin seems satisfied with his answer, and switches the subject to the weather in the Grand Line.

Zoro almost jumps when a sudden, acidic retort resounds around them, uttered in a small, shrill voice, distorted with contempt.

" _Of course, it's a lie._ "

He looks around, surveying the area for a hidden presence, but it seems like there's only the three of them on deck right now.

" _It's a lie, and you know it._ "

There. The voice is definitely coming from Robin's general area. However, she couldn't be the one who said that, because she's currently discussing the weather, or some equally unimportant matter with Usopp. Neither seems to hear that weird little voice.

" _Up here._ "

Zoro complies and looks up, only to meet the Chopper-faced teddy-bear's insistent staring. There's a malicious life in these beaded eyes, and he has to refrain from flinching under that scrutinizing gaze.

" _You know it's a lie, because you're such a big liar yourself._ " Zoro frowns as the bear's voice painfully bores into his sensitive ears.

"Heh." He replies mockingly, irritated by that annoying voice and its blunt, merciless honesty. "What if I am?"

" _Do I really need to tell you? You know what I'm talking about._ " The bear pauses, before adding : " _She's not coming back, you know. She's done with your little joke of a relationship._ "

Zoro snorts at this last sentence. He knows very well that what the bear is saying might be true, but he's certainly not going to admit it.

"Whatever."

But the bear doesn't seem to be fooled by his stern front. Its eyes narrow, before it adds, in a challenging tone that strangely reminds Zoro of the shit-cook's :

" _You brought this shit upon yourself, and there's no one else to blame._ " Before Zoro has a chance to retort, it goes on : " _You should have thought about it before this crew has to suffer the consequences of your mistakes._ "

Zoro doesn't know what to reply to that, so, he says nothing. And anyway, before he can think of anything, the bear looks away. Life escapes from it, and soon, it's a mere stupid toy again.

"By the way, where is Nami?" Usopp asks suddenly, and Zoro focuses his attention on these two once more.

Robin's eyes are unreadable. "I don't know."

But that's a good question, Zoro thinks. He still wants – needs – to find her. Ask her why she didn't come. And since nobody seems to know where she went, he starts searching for her.

He first goes to the galley, which is curiously empty, even though the preparations for the crew's breakfast are blatantly spread over the counter, table, and every available surface. The shit-cook should be there, but he's nowhere to be seen. Weird. Maybe he's on watch, Zoro thinks. He decides to check the crow's nest. Nami might be up there, so he'd have a look anyway.

When he exits the galley, Usopp and Robin are gone. He climbs the rope ladder, only to find the crow's nest utterly empty. He breathes in deeply, and the air is holding faint hints of iodine. He surveys the ship from up there, but the deck is void of any sign of life. Whatever. He briskly climbs down, and searches the hold. Then, the anchor deck. And the men's quarters. Even the small bathroom – they're all empty.

_Where the hell did everyone go?_ He wonders briefly, before resuming his search for Nami.

He finally arrives in front of the girls' cabin, the only room he didn't check yet. And as soon as he lays his eyes upon it, he knows that both the cook and Nami are in there. Somehow, he imagines very well what's happening behind that door, as he rests his hand on the handle for a couple seconds, before turning it, careful not to make any sound.

The door opens slowly, and the inside is, despite his earlier suspicions, well lit. As he thought, the cook and the navigator are there, standing right in the middle of the room. Obviously, they were talking before he arrived there, but as they turn to look at him, not really looking surprised at all, not even for a split second, they fall silent. And it's not one of these comfortable silences : it's an awkward, heavy silence, which weights on Zoro all the more.

He looks at them both in turns, his eyes darting back and forth between the cook's cold, narrowed eyes, and Nami's pursed lips. They look a tad annoyed, and maybe a little embarrassed, but, somehow, Zoro knows the shit-cook is feeling guilty, and Nami's a little sad. He can feel it in the air between them. He can almost taste it while he inhales deeply, unsure of what he should say or do. And, as Nami shifts uncomfortably on her feet, while the cook lights up, his hands shaking faintly, he knows that his earlier assumptions were right. There's something going on here, something he wasn't meant to know, and even though he's never been the jealous type, the thought itself makes his insides freeze, makes him want to break something. To run away and never come back. The worse thing is that they're both sorry for doing this to him, he can feel it as well. But it doesn't make him feel better in any way.

His eyes dart up when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and they're both there, right next to him. They're effectively surrounding him, and all of a sudden, he feels trapped – there's nowhere left to run. The tension in his gut increases, and he can feel uncomfortable shivers run down his spine, as the cook's hand comes to rest on his arm, while Nami's arm sneaks around his shoulders. Soon, much to his surprise, they're both embracing him tightly, and he should be choking between them. But strangely, surrounded by such wanton, close comfort, he feels better, like he's not alone anymore. And his consciousness wavers, and he loses himself as he returns their embrace – he is one, but they are three, and yet in the end, they are one. This is meant to be – they're three two one. And he wonders – how come his hand tingles as Nami presses the cook's against her heart? How come the tears he should be shedding run down Sanji's cheeks? And why is he crying, anyway? There's warmth, tenderness, and _love_ so intense he can touch it. His painful emotions disintegrate and disperse into air, into oblivion, because this is the end of loneliness, a loneliness he never realized he held within himself.

_We are one._

***

He wakes up, surrounded by coldness, so different from his dream's warmth, and his eyes are dry. The warmth flickers, before disappearing entirely with the last remnants of the dream, leaving him with a feeling of utter loss, as well as a question : how come Nami's wearing the cook's shirts in bed so often?


	9. Shot right through with a bolt of blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking ahead, he realizes he was about to cross a small river that seems to meander through the city, given the numerous bridges they had to cross since they started shopping.
> 
> Except that there's no bridge in sight.

It's when you expect it the less that things suddenly decide they won't go your way, and instead, place themselves right in the middle of your life path. Some people call it fate, or karma. Some other people would tell you it's only bad luck. Others would shrug it off as a mere coincidence, and go on with their life, in spite of ordeals and adversity.

Of course, Zoro is part of the later kind. He doesn't believe in fate or karma, though he does think that luck, as well as coincidences, exist. He isn't one to dwell on unpleasant occurrences, and certainly not one to give up because of mere obstacles. He's never been scared of taking on a new challenge, even if it was a pain in the ass.

Still, it doesn't make things easier for him, when said obstacles are a product of his own treacherous mind.

He's currently training on the deck, trying to no avail to keep track of how many push ups he's already done, to empty his mind and body from the unwanted emotions that stupid dream left behind. Luffy, Usopp and Chopper are sitting on the nearby railing, fishing and discussing merrily. But his brain doesn't even process what they're saying. Similarly, the girls are sunbathing lazily a few feet away from him, and he should be trying hard not to look in their direction. Nami's there, and he doesn't know if he'd rather demand answers and finally know, or be left hanging forever. But he's so distracted he doesn't really need to, aside from the occasional surge of – what is it anyway? Curiosity? Dread? Zoro almost feels like there a clock ticking, somewhere, slowly shelling some kind of twisted, inevitable count down. He feels pressured, but he's not that stupid. He knows that it's only the result of that stressful situation. He can handle that.

But never in his life had Zoro been that puzzled, that disturbed by a mere dream.

They never bothered him before, whether regular dreams or nightmares – not that he has many of those to begin with. Most of the time, they won't really make sense, not to him anyway. And he'll forget about them within a mere day, when he remembers them at all. But his latest dream was unusual, and he doesn't seem to be able to dispel its strange effect. The disturbing images are imprinted on the inside of his closed eyelids, the warmth of that embrace is burnt into his skin. Even though it was just a dream. Even though it's long gone.

The worst about it is that the dream actually made some kind of sense, somehow. Not only what happened in it is similar to what could happen in his daily, normal life, or at least, more similar to that than usual. Conversations with a beginning and an end. Logical continuity of events. Just that is disturbing enough on its own. But he also knows very well what prompted it. And with what happened right before he woke up... He still can't explain why the hell his brain has come up with such a stupid, silly thing.

No need to lie to himself. No need to hide it. He knows very well that he's felt lonely before. After Kuina fell down those accursed stairs and died. When he left his sensei's dojo to fulfill his promise, too. And even when he was left hanging from that pole, bruised and hungry, until Luffy managed to get him to join his crew. Yeah, those were all occasions when he felt lonely, he admits it without hesitating, even for a split second.

Also, maybe – no, definitely. He had been lonely when he left that woman, the blond-haired forest dweller who rescued him and introduced him to the intense pleasures his body could provide, a pleasure he had only heard about, prior to that point in his life. But it wasn't surprising. In retrospect, he reckons he had been lonely for some time, when he met her. In her, he had found companionship and, he guesses, comfort, for some time at least. But he knew right from the start that he wouldn't be able to stay by her side. Did she know this as well? He doubts it. She never objectively tried to make him stay, or said anything that would make him think she did. But she did manage to get him to sleep with her, even though he'd never been a very demonstrative individual. And even though she didn't even try to prevent him from leaving, she cried when he did.

That's how he remembers her : silent, eyes wide and glazed by inextinguishable tears, flowing freely on her reddened cheeks. She never said anything, but each silent, refrained sob reverberated around him like an accusation, even after he had long left.

_What a cold, heartless man he was, leaving her like that._

He discards the memory with a sigh. Because, in the end, maybe he imagined it all. Nevertheless, it made him feel even more lonely than he already was. But certainly, he got used to that. Until some black-haired boy with a grin too large for his thin face that made him look younger than he really was, stumbled into his life. And then, with him, an avalanche of nakama followed, one after the other, and he was never alone anymore. Not that he regrets it, not even one bit, though every once in a while, he wishes that his days on board of the Merry were a little quieter. But he knows he can handle a little commotion, so, it doesn't matter. It's more than worth the pain in the ass most of his crew-mates sometimes prove to be. Even the cook.

Nah, he's never been _less_ lonely than he is right now. And yet...

With that dream, his unconscious mind seemingly wants to prove him otherwise. And it succeeded, somehow, because now, Zoro's starting to wonder if he's really lonely, if he really wants Nami's attention – and maybe more – so badly that he's afraid to lose it. That he even has nightmares about it.

He's never been one to reflect on his dreams, or to try to analyze them. He'd rather not start today, but he has to admit that his efforts are useless. Maybe he's disturbed more than he first thought he'd be.

He woke up with the feelings from his dream still intact, somehow. He knows that they're mostly baseless, only prompted by an unconscious desire for – what, affection? Companionship? Whatever. He's almost admitted by now that he does feel something for Nami, and it's not really surprising. She's been his friend, his nakama since they met, though his feelings' unusual intensity, towards a crew-mate, slightly disturb and unsettle him. Because he promised himself that he wouldn't let them grow that much. He failed in that regard. Let her overcome his stoicism, pierce through his defenses so carelessly. Zoro doesn't like failing. But he blames it on the fact his relationship with Nami, however faint, however fragile, however superficial it was, is most likely about to end. The sheer irony almost has him laughing at himself for not anticipating that unwanted side effect. One never knows how much they value something until they lose it, he knows that well. He's known that since he had to suffer the cruel loss of his friend, that little girl he never even knew was so important to him, back then. But he knows he'll get over it, with some time. Eventually.

He doesn't even want to start thinking about the fact the cook was there, and involved, too. But his determination is annihilated by an intense, unusual desire to analyze and understand. To find an explanation.

That's how disturbed he is, and he doesn't like it one bit.

Jealousy... He's never thought that he'd come to feel such a shallow, useless emotion, one day. And yet, here he is, risking a glance towards the galley's door when the cook emerges from there, a tray precariously perched on his hand – but the idiot knows how to manage such a difficult thing, doesn't he. He strides towards the place where the girls are quietly chatting, swoons over them as if they were the 8th and 9th wonders of the known world, respectively. Are his attentions just a tad more insistent on Nami's side? Is that a coquettish smile she's bestowing upon him? Are these teasing fingers, trailing on the back of her hand – his heart sinks at that thought, before he realizes it's only a trick of light against the glass – as a sultry-looking drink is passed between them? Would she even let him do such a thing, without shouting and landing a well-aimed fist on his head? Zoro doesn't know, doesn't want to know. So, he discards it altogether, and tries focusing on his training.

He has to admit, though, that there's still something to gain from such a complicated situation. He's been weak, and now he knows of that weakness, he surely won't let it happen again. Feeling close to his crew-mates is ok, but that was too close. His current mind frame is a clear proof of that.

He doesn't know, nor does he want to think about what he'll do if she happens to approach him again. But he'll think about that later. If he ever needs to.

All that's left to him now is getting rid of all these small, faint physical reactions. It feels like he's sick, light-headed, and he doesn't like it one bit. These sensations new and foreign to him, and he doesn't really know how to handle them. Nor does he know what to do with himself, actually.

Accelerated heartbeat. Heat in his chest, in his gut. A strange feeling of excitement, of expectancy, uncontrollable and unwanted, whenever he thinks of what happened in that fucking dream. Of that embrace. Even though it was a dream, he returned it consciously. Willingly. And it almost felt like... merging, maybe? He doesn't really know how to describe it. He's never felt anything like that before. It didn't feel that bad. Quite the opposite, actually. But what disturbs him the most is that he misses the feeling. If given the opportunity, he knows he'd do it again, without a second thought. It scares him like nothing ever did.

He grunts faintly, as he realizes that, once more, his mind has drifted in a direction he'd rather not explore. And, once more, he's lost track of his push-ups count.

Yeah. He's definitely more disturbed by that than he'd like to admit.

_Dammit. Get a grip on yourself, focus, and train, for fuck's sake!_

He sighs, picks up his smallest weights – still heavy enough to knock anyone out after a couple lifts – and starts training himself out of that over-thinking bullshit.

Of course, it's not that simple.

***

The worst thing about living on a small ship, aside from the much too rare stops to restock and disrupt the usual routine by having all sorts of fun, is that you can't really avoid someone you'd rather not talk to. Whatever you do, you'll inevitably end up crossing paths with that very person, even if you try not to. Don't even try talking to them, because they might brush you off, or even tell you things you'd rather not hear. They could also ignore you entirely. Do as if you weren't even here to begin with. Which, obviously, would be worse.

But this... This is even worse than the worst.

The cook walks from one stall to another, his pace the very embodiment of determination and no-nonsense professionalism, aside from the occasional delighted whimpers that escape him whenever they encounter a pretty girl. Fortunately, the shopkeepers are more on the middle-aged, hairy, gruff side, on this island. Fortunately, because Zoro, currently lost in his own thoughts, knows very well he's not aware enough of their surroundings to avoid ending up wandering away – not that he'd ever admit that. He somewhat counts on the cook to keep him on the right path, and that idiot wouldn't manage such a simple task if he were to let himself get distracted too much. So, he begrudgingly accepts every new grocery bag the shit-cook bestows upon him without a word, and follow silently.

Of course, he did notice the stolen glances from the other, whenever he thinks Zoro's not looking – he's not that oblivious to the world. His core swordsman instinct wouldn't let him. But even if the cook noticed something's wrong with him, he doesn't think he'll question him about his lack of retaliation. Not when he sports such a deep frown, feigns dutiful disinterest, and reluctantly lets his mind wander towards unwanted thoughts, because there's not much else he can do.

Somewhat unsurprisingly, Nami is behaving as if nothing ever happened. As if, in the past weeks, she never spent every single night he was on watch in his company. In his arms. Spread beneath him or straddling his thighs. Screwing him into the wooden floor, like there was no tomorrow. Rendering him unable to push her away, to refuse her. Tricking him into complying.

If Zoro had to be honest with himself, he would admit that he was the one to blame for most of that fiasco. He gave up resisting her a long time ago, right from the start, even. As that creepy teddy bear from his dream told him, he brought this shit upon himself, and he was stupid to believe he could have even a hint of control over this affair of theirs. All that's left to him is bearing the consequences as stoically as ever. And Zoro honestly thinks he could do that, if it weren't for the stupid dreams he's been having lately.

It's not really getting better. He's been having more of them, though he can't really remember them anymore – his sleeping pattern has become slightly erratic, and he wonders if that might be the cause. All he knows for certain is that Nami's been a prominent feature in them. Not really a surprise, after what happened – or rather, hasn't happened anymore – in the past few days.

He almost jumps when a pale hand suddenly appears in front of his face, waving leisurely.

"Hello? Earth to marimo?"

His eyes slowly follow the suit-clad arm attached to that hand, then the shoulder above the arm, only to land on the cook's silly mug, all grins and cigarette hanging from lips corners. That blue eye is peering at him in a peculiar way, as if trying to see past his face, which he knows is frowning in a focusing effort, at that moment.

His mind finally sets on answering the cook, trying not to sound too out of it, with a noncommittal retort. Unfortunately, the only thing that he grumpily manages to utter is far from convincing.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, I'm talking to you, moss-head." The cook replies in an unimpressed, casual tone. "Here, take this."

And with yet another of these peculiar looks, he hands Zoro yet another bag which, from the strong iodine smell emanating from its inside, most likely holds some kind of shellfish. Zoro takes it with a slight grunt, and ignores the insistent staring. Soon, they're walking through the stalls again, Sanji eagerly surveying the available products, and Zoro's mind wandering.

He wonders what he did to trigger such a rejection – he didn't dare ask Nami directly, since she's been avoiding him lately. Not that it's very obvious, because she's conscientiously acting as if there was never anything between them. But the way she has to find herself extremely busy whenever he's around, or leave under the pretense of some pressing matter when they find themselves alone... Yeah, she definitely seems to be uneasy around him, though she hides it well.

He doesn't keep track of time, and even less of direction, which might be why he's rather surprised to have his head violently slammed to the side – though not so violently that he'd lose his balance and trip – by the hard sole of a black shoe.

"Look where you're going, shithead!"

Zoro, absentmindedly rubbing his head where the hit landed, and frowning at a slightly aggravated cook, has to admit that the guy is right. Looking ahead, he realizes he was about to cross a small river that seems to meander through the city, given the numerous bridges they had to cross since they started shopping.

Except that there's no bridge in sight.

_Oh. Great. Way to go, Zoro._

His frown deepens as he grunts and shake his head in disbelief. He shouldn't be that absentminded, he knows it very well. A swordsman should be aware of his surroundings at all times. Not to mention the fact the cook was in a pretty good mood, up until now. But that stunt of his probably ruined even that. Not that he cares, not really. But his crew-mate is painfully obnoxious when he's upset. Zoro doesn't need that right now.

"Yeah, right." He answers in a tone that, he hopes, lets the other know of his irritation.

"What's wrong with you today, marimo? You're so out of it. More than usual, that is."

He scowls at the shit-cook.

"Huh, whatever."

And he starts walking again before the other can even think of questioning him further. But before he can walk more than a couple steps, a hand roughly grabs him by his shirt's collar. _I wish they'd stop with that detestable habit, or I soon won't have a decent shirt left to wear – not that I care, anyway_ , he thinks, feeling his irritation rise steadily. That is, before he remembers that there's little chance Nami will do that again. Not anytime soon, anyway. Which has him scowling even harder than he did moments ago.

"Wrong direction, moss-head." The cook mutters softly through clenched teeth, grabbing his cigarette between slender fingers and slowly exhaling smoke, as if, having to face Zoro's so-called stupidity, he had to focus to keep his cool. As if he'd rather not fight about whatever he thinks Zoro should or shouldn't do.

Zoro doesn't know why, but this aggravates him even more. He wishes the cook were back to his usual annoying self. A good fight would be the best thing that could happen to him right now. Perfect way to get rid of unwanted thoughts and frustrations. And he got more than his share of those, in the past days. But, as the other eyes him almost calmly – almost, but not quite, because Sanji's always agitated for one reason or another – he doesn't feel like admitting the cook's getting on his nerves. Because it would be admitting defeat. This is just another kind of challenge, of competition – and after all, they're rivals, in more ways than he'd like to admit to anyone but himself.

So, he says nothing and follows, silently fuming. And tries focusing, but once again, he fails miserably.

His mind is back to Nami again, and her now obvious desertion. He knows he shouldn't dwell on it, and yet, he can't help but wonder. What happened to make her change her mind about their nightly encounters? Did he do something wrong? Is he really cold and heartless?

_I wonder if there's something wrong with me..._

"Yeah, I was wondering about the same thing."

He briskly glances up at the cook, wondering if that idiot read his mind, or if his words are just a coincidence. But no, it couldn't be, not when the other's blue eye is peering at him in such a peculiar fashion. He must have thought that last one out loud.

"What do you mean?" He cautiously asks, unwilling to arise more suspicions in the cook than he already did.

"I told you already. You're awfully out of it today. Even worse than usual. And now you're even talking to yourself."

He pauses, lighting up and greedily inhaling the smoke, before going on, in that soft tone that almost has Zoro squirming, as if he was about to sneeze. The guy's voice sometimes does that to him, though he'd have to admit it's not really unpleasant. More like irritating.

"Did something happen?"

Ah. There it is, that foreboding feeling. Unsurprisingly, because the softness in the other's voice reminds him of his dream. And is that genuine concern that can be heard in the cook's gentle, casual tone? Zoro doesn't know. Nor does he know what to make of it. So, he just stares, and doesn't even try to reply.

"Hey." The cook asks again. And when he realizes he's not going to get an answer, he steps a tad closer to him.

Zoro almost jumps when the other's hand grips his forearm, the one that's holding the shellfish bag, catching him unawares. Obviously, the cook only sought to get his attention, without no ulterior motive, or so Zoro thinks. But as Sanji rests his hand on his arm, near his elbow, these slender, skillful fingers brush against the inside of his arm, where the skin is more sensitive. No, he doesn't think he did it on purpose. Most likely, the other is unaware of the intimacy of that contact – after all, it's only that way to Zoro, because of a stupid dream. But it's a gentle, delicate touch, and it sends imperceptible shivers run down his spine, despite the warm weather. He hopes the cook didn't notice.

"Hey, moss-head, are you sure everything's ok? Or did you finally fry that last braincell of yours? Is it the sun? Do you need watering?"

But Zoro still doesn't reply, because right now, sensations of soft fingers in his hair, as well as a warm embrace, wash over him. He's unable to repress the flow. All he can think of at that very moment is the cook's hand on his arm and the memories it brings.

"Hey. I'm starting to worry here, shit-head." A pause, and a slight shake of the hand on his arm. "Hey? You hear me? Marimo?" Another pause, and a more violent shake of his arm. " _Zoro?_ "

Hearing his name from the cook's lips, uttered in this almost panicked tone, is so unusual, so foreign to him that he snaps out of his near-trance state. And the images in his head flicker, like fluttering leaves in the wind, soon discarded, forgotten. He blinks, shakes his head and finally sees the cook, though he never stopped looking at him. Is it just him, or does the other's face look a tiny bit paler than usual?

"Huh?"

Sanji sighs, and lets the hand that was resting on Zoro's arm fall to his side. He slowly shakes his head, and drags on his cigarette maybe a little bit longer than he usually does, before exhaling the smoke.

"You're really hopeless, marimo. Don't pull that unnecessary shit on me anymore, will you?" He sighs, and ruffles the swordsman's hair in what feels awfully like a _fond_ gesture, before grabbing a slightly dumbfounded Zoro by the sleeve of his shirt.

"Come on." The cook's tone is, again, soft and very far from antagonizing. "We're done here. Let's go back."

_What the hell was that?_ Zoro wonders, as they walk towards the port, where the ship is anchored. One more weird thing to add to the long list of what could be summed up as the cook's strange behavior. The more he thinks about it, the less he understands. He absentmindedly raises his free hand to brush on his arm's skin, where the other's fingers were earlier. He then runs his fingers through his hair. There's no proof that the cook really did touch him there, no more than proof that he really did graze against the skin in the back of his head. Maybe he imagined it all.

But the warmth lingers.

***

One glass. A second one. Put it upside down on the counter. One, two, three plates. All in a neat pile. A large dish, and a cooking pot. Another glass. Spoons, forks, knives. A ladle. More knives.

It's never been a source of displeasure, not really, drying the dishes after the cook washes them and hands it to him, one after the other. Zoro never minded helping with that, even though he'd rather sleep through his share of other chores. Perhaps because it's one of the few occasions he and the cook can work together, stand side by side without feeling the need to really make conversation. Or bicker – that usually comes later. Helping with the dishes is something he's always looked forward to, somehow, despite the fact he's always put up a reluctant front. But that's only because it's how they work. The cook will nag, Zoro will grouch, and at some point, a fight will ensue.

But not today. Today more than ever, Zoro revels in the comforting quietness, only interrupted by the occasional chinking of glasses, and of course, the cook's mumbled interjections every time he hands him a new dish to dry. And that's a little weird, actually, because he usually says them in a confident, challenging tone. But today, they're barely whispered. It's almost as if he didn't say anything. Seems like the cook is still in that weird mood of his, the same one he sported during their shopping trip. It's an uncanny mix of serene irritation, with a hint of melancholy, which he discretely demonstrates by sighing softly when he thinks Zoro's not paying attention. He is, sort of. Most of the time. But he's got stuff on his mind as well, which is why he won't even think of prying for now. Not that he usually does, anyway.

He's still wondering what he did to get Nami to desert him like that. If not something he did – because he really can't find anything out of the usual in his recent behavior – then, maybe there's something wrong with that very behavior to begin with. And she just recently got fed up with it. But even though he knows himself well, and has always made a point to be aware of his weaknesses, this is only good as far as fighting goes. He knows he's loyal and reliable. True to his word, and usually aware of his surroundings. But he might be a poor judge of his own character, as far as flaws go, because obviously, he's never thought he was lazy or stupid. And obviously again, the cook would disagree with that.

It's only when the latter has to remind Zoro for the third time that he's here to help, not to stare blankly at the wall, that it hits him. If someone will be honest with him when it comes to his flaws, it's the shit-cook. Moreover, Sanji asked him a question, a few weeks ago, asked him for a piece of his advice. Asked for his help, in a way, even though he has to admit he did a poor job of answering him. But he might agree to return the favor, even if the only result he gets is being laughed at. Come on, they're alone in here, and Sanji's mood is pretty good, considering he hasn't tried to start a fight until now – though with all these sighs, Zoro doesn't see how this could be a _good_ mood. At least, the other doesn't seem too antagonistic right now. It's the best occasion he'll ever have. So, he braces himself and clears his throat hesitantly.

"Hey?" He asks, unsure of how to formulate his thoughts.

The other stops his current task – vigorously scrubbing a large cooking pot – and raises an interrogative, question-mark shaped eyebrow at him. And suddenly, without any prior warning, Zoro's throat goes a little dry, as his gut grips into an unexpected tension. Is he really going to ask the cook if he has flaws, moreover, flaws that might be a turn off for a girl? Not only, this is a very personal matter, and Zoro has never been one to discuss his private affairs with others, but also, isn't it pointing towards his relationship with Nami a tad too obviously? If the cook already has suspicions, that will be a dead giveaway.

"Yeah?" Sanji soon asks, when Zoro stays silent.

Damn. He should have thought about it before speaking up, because now, the shit-cook is expecting him to say something. How is he going to get himself out of this? He has to think of something, anything, and quick.

"Er..." He frantically racks his brains, and ends up uttering the first thing that comes to his mind. "Wanna switch?"

Sanji's visible eye narrows imperceptibly, and he stares at Zoro for a couple seconds, before finally letting out a deep sigh.

"Marimo," Sanji says tiredly, eying Zoro with that irritated look he had in the morning, once again, "do I need to remind you that you're not currently washing the dishes because, despite the fact I have to admit you used to do a great job, you always ended up breaking more stuff than needed? Don't blame me," he adds when Zoro frowns at him in a somewhat disgusted fashion, "blame those ridiculously strong hands of yours."

Zoro's scowl deepens, as he glances down at the guilty appendages, which are currently drying yet another glass, as delicately as he can. It's true that he broke a few of these, as well as a couple plates, when Sanji first asked him to help with the dishes. So what? When something gets dirty, you have to scrub hard to get rid of old crusted food. He only wanted to hasten the process, and it's not his fault if he didn't know how much strength he should use. He'd never washed dishes before ; never needed to.

"Seriously," the cook adds after a moment, his tone strangely soft, "if you really want to, I guess we can switch, but you'll have to deal with Nami-swan if you break anything."

Uh, no, Zoro would rather not do that. Not anytime soon, anyway.

"No thanks. I'd rather not increase my debt." He pauses, before adding : "I'm not a masochist."

"Sometimes, I wonder about that." The cook says, in a slightly playful tone.

Maybe it's the way he said it. Maybe it's the fact there's no animosity at all in his voice, despite the somewhat rude comment he just uttered. But Zoro's ears perk up at that remark, and he suddenly sees an occasion to direct the conversation in a way that might answer some of his questions.

"Huh? What do you mean?" He says, feigning irritation somewhat successfully.

Sanji turns towards Zoro, eyes him coldly for a while, and opens his mouth.

"Come on, moss-head. I know you're dumb, but can't you be at least a little self-conscious? Of course, anyone would think that you're a masochist." He dries his hands rapidly, before retrieving a smoke in his jacket, and lighting up, letting out a large puff of smoke before resuming the intense scrubbing, the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth in a lazy fashion. "You get injured all the time, and you never wait for these to heal before scrapping your bandages. You start training like there's no tomorrow, as soon as you can stand up. You would definitely look like a masochist to any sane person, meat-head."

That's a lot more information than Zoro expected. He'd like to reflect on everything the cook just said, but there are other thing he wants to know, right now. So, he stores everything in the far back of his mind, and, hoping he's not being too obvious about it, he prepares a retort.

"So, I'm dumb, lazy, and now, I'm also a masochist. What else?"

Sanji stops once again, and looks at him peculiarly, his whole body stilled aside from the shallow heaving of his chest. The look on his face is almost blank, but Zoro thinks he might be just a little bit surprised at his last question. Soon, he opens his mouth and slowly starts.

"Yeah. You're stupid and lazy. You're also have no manners, and you're as stubborn as a fucking mule." He adds, his voice strangely tense. Is that faint irritation in his tone? "And you're a general bother to people around you." He finishes through his clenched teeth, before attacking the encrusted monster living in the last cooking pot.

Yeah, definitely irritation. But this doesn't answer the question Zoro now admits he's been agonizing over for the past few days. He has to ask, because he needs to know.

"So, I'm not a cold and heartless jerk as well?" He says in what he hopes is a light, playful tone, trying not to let his voice betray the hope that Sanji will answer that as well.

But he soon realizes he probably failed, because Sanji briskly turns towards him, his blue eye slightly widening in what might very well be bewilderment. But it doesn't last, and the cook is quick to cover whatever it is that occurred to him, turning back towards the sink absentmindedly rinsing the pot.

"Of course, you're a heartless asshole." He replies in a tense tone. "What did you expect?"

Zoro feels himself freeze at these merciless words, though he tries not to let it show. They fall silent, and the shit-cook hands him that last pot, which he dries. His mind is almost blank. Almost. So, he's really that cold. Maybe. At least, Sanji seems to think so. And yeah, that's a very good question : what did he expect, anyway?

"I'm just kidding."

He starts at these words, and looks at the cook, trying to hide his confusion. The other is leisurely leaning back on the edge of the sink, having finished his part of the dish-washing, and is glancing at Zoro cautiously. Almost hesitantly.

"No need to get all offended like that, moss-head. I said I was kidding." He exhales a puff of smoke through his nose, and the noise he makes while doing so sounds like a sigh to Zoro. "Yeah, you might appear cold to people who barely know you," he adds after a while in a soft, almost gentle tone. "But you're not really like that." He glances at him briefly, before going on. "I've seen the concern you show to the others, when needed." He smirks. "Or when you think no one is looking."

Zoro doesn't know what to reply to that. Of course, he tries not to show his concern. He's stronger than most of his friends, but they're certainly not weak, and he wouldn't want his crew-mates to get offended by his mostly useless, overprotective instincts. That, and it's too damn embarrassing, though he'd never admit it, not even to himself. He didn't think the cook would notice that.

"Huh..." That weak retort is all that he manages to reply. He can already feel heat creeping up his cheeks. And, even though he knows the other wouldn't notice, because he doesn't blush, thanks to his tan complexion, it feels even more embarrassing, all of a sudden. He feels awkward, and for no good reason. At all.

"But you know, marimo..." Sanji adds after a short while, his eyes intently staring at the wall. "Sometimes, I wonder."

He turns towards Zoro and locks eyes with him, and the latter feels something jolt in his chest when he meets these scrutinizing blue eyes.

"The opposite isn't necessarily true. I mean... How should I put it?" He pause. "It's like you're trying to distance yourself from the rest of the crew. You never really seem to need us. And sometimes, it's good to feel needed, you know."

And Sanji's face, at that very moment, under the irritated scowl and slight frowning, displays an emotion Zoro didn't expect to find there. Especially not after such a reproach. Worry. The cook seems worried that Zoro doesn't need the rest of the crew. And Zoro doesn't know what to make of it. All he can do is frown harder, trying to hide his puzzlement the best he can.

After a while, the cook sighs and rubs the back of his head.

"Ah, I'm so bad at this." He mutters in a apologizing tone. "I'm not pretending that I understand what goes on in your meat-head at all times, but..." He suddenly hesitates, averting his eyes, now hidden by his long bangs, though Zoro still can see the obvious redness spreading on the visible side of his neck. "From my point of view, I can't understand how, in the long run, one wouldn't feel tremendously lonely." He finally mutters.

After hearing these words, Zoro feels so embarrassed that he has to look away. So, he stares at the clean, dry dishes, resting on the immaculate counter. He doesn't even look up when, after a moment of deafening silence, the shit-cook stands upright, and pats his shoulder lightly in an uneasy, surprising gesture of comfort. He then heads for the door and exits the room, leaving him lost in his thoughts, frowning madly.


	10. One night to speed up truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other scowls and shouts at him, infuriated, but Zoro's having so much fun he can't help but grin like a madman.

So, the cook did notice the subtle concern for his friends, that he so rarely displays, Zoro ponders silently, as he turns over to look at Sanji, laying next to him, on the carpet in the men's cabin. Tonight, he has trouble falling asleep, once more. He blames it on the weird talk he had with the guy, earlier that day. Since they did, unsettling thoughts swirl and twirl in his mind – just like that idiot's curly brow, though Zoro doesn't notice the irony of that fact, for now – even more than they did before. And the cook's words replays over and over in his head. It's much more thinking than what he's used to, but in the end, he realizes that he doesn't really mind. Because it's a welcome distraction from other, even less pleasant thoughts.

_It's like you're trying to distance yourself from the rest of the crew._

He's still astonished that the cook has figured out that much about him. Right now, the other is peacefully sleeping, laying on his side with his arms huddled against his chest, as if trying to gather a little more warmth in the cold night. But he doesn't seem to be shivering. So, Zoro decides against getting up to find a blanket for the cold-sensitive cook. He's not his friggin mother, anyway.

Now that he thinks about it, that idiot's might not be the only one to have noticed. Certainly, Zoro wouldn't bet on it. He's pretty sure Robin noticed as well, but she knows better than to have anyone know about her discovery. And there's also something Nami told him when he finally realized that he wanted more of her than he was comfortable admitting. Something about not being so hard on himself. Maybe that's what she meant back then. And maybe that's why she stopped joining him at night.

_You never really seem to need us._

But he'd rather not think about Nami too much, right now, because it makes him feel uneasy, somehow. He still doesn't know if it's only his hurt pride speaking, or if he really does have feelings for her. Whatever. Actually, he'd rather not know. So, he turns around once more, and tries to sleep.

In vain.

What unsettles him the most is that the shit-cook went as far as noticing – or rather, figuring out – a lot more than that silly, embarrassing behavior of his. It's even more than Zoro himself could figure out about himself, until recently. And he still wouldn't have, if it weren't for that stupid dream he had a few days ago. How the cook managed to come to that conclusion, he doesn't know. But the fact remains that he did. And it makes Zoro feel weird, to think the person who understands him the best among this assorted crew is the one he expected the least. The one who's the most different from him. The one who supposedly hates him.

_I can't understand how, in the long run, one wouldn't feel tremendously lonely._

But in the end, are they that different? Of course, there's the stupid obsession with anyone with boobs and a skirt. And there's the smoking, too. Zoro doesn't have anything like that. Aside maybe... Yeah. He does like drinking a lot, after all. Maybe it's not that different, Zoro thinks, smirking in the dark at that thought. There's also the passion the other has for cooking. Yes, Zoro could relate, in that regard. He'd never even try pretending the cook's not focused on improving his cooking skills, not after seeing him so engrossed while trying a new dish. Zoro has his swords training. He guesses it's about the same. And they both like to fight. With each other, if possible, which is only to be expected, when you think about it. Zoro's pretty sure he irritates the hell out of the cook, as much as that dumbass aggravates the fuck out of him.

_Sometimes, it's good to feel needed, you know._

It's strange, but realizing that the cook and himself aren't that different – they still are, of course, but maybe not as much as he used to think, in the end – makes him feel warm. A little less lonely as well, as he realizes in what feels like a sudden flash of enlightenment.

The feeling is so unexpected that he sits up with a start, looking absentmindedly at his hands, limply resting in his lap.

Maybe it wasn't such a silly dream, after all. Maybe he should actually start listening at what his unconscious tries to tell him in these. He might learn more things about himself, things he never even suspected, he ponders, running a hand in his slightly ruffled hair. He turns towards the cook once more, and silently watches his chest rise and fall, as he deeply breathes in his sleep.

It's nothing new to him, honestly. He's always known it felt uneasy to him, getting emotionally close to other people. It's more or less always been him against the world, for as long as he can remember. He used to think thought nobody really understood him – still does, actually. Maybe Kuina did understand, when she was alive, he reckons. But she was the exception, and she died, and... After that, unwilling to trust anyone to begin with, he pretty much gave up on friendship, and everything that came along with it in the process. Comfort. Support. It was a matter of will, worth, and self-esteem. These were things he thought he didn't need. Things he couldn't provide.

All that mattered was the promise he made. Everything else was superfluous. A distraction. A weakness.

Of course, things have been different since meeting his current crew. They're all his friends, somehow, and he makes sure they can rely on him. Just like a loyal friend would. But loyalty isn't friendship, and he now realizes that he never really tried to return the favor.

Oh, certainly, he trusts them well enough. He knows Nami will lead them wherever they have to go. That Luffy will manage to get them all the way to Raftel, at some point, and that he'll protect them the best he can until then. That Chopper will cure any disease they might contract on the way. And the list could go on. Usopp will never fail to show bravery when needed. The shit-cook will keep them well-fed, even if they ever run low on supplies. And Robin... Well, Robin will do whatever it is that she does. He has to admit he doesn't trust her as much as his other crew-mates, but she's only been with them for a short time, after all.

And yet, if he does rely on his friends for practical matters, he never tried to rely on them for emotional ones. Because he didn't think he needed to. And, now that he thinks about it, he's never been much of an emotional support at all, since he's so bad at it.

It seems that, somehow, he was wrong all along. He might be bad at it, but his friends expect him to be there when needed, for practical matters as well as emotional ones. And maybe he should try harder in that regard.

With these thoughts in his mind, as he's peering at the cook's relaxed face, Zoro feels the sudden urge to wake him up and share that discovery about himself. To thank him for enabling him to have that revelation. To tell him that he's not that bad at it, despite what the guy seems to think - it's actually quite the opposite. Sanji is a good friend, as today's events proved without a doubt. But he won't wake him up. It does feel uneasy to share such an intimate thing with anyone, and especially with the cook, because they don't get along that well to begin with. Besides, he knows he'd get hell for that. He doesn't think he'd like to be awakened for such a silly reason, even by someone he considers a friend. He frowns, and lays down on his side again, facing the other, not averting his eyes from his sleeping face. Does the shit-cook think of him as a friend? Isn't he supposed to hate his gut, anyway? Until today, Zoro was almost certain that the guy tolerated him, at the best times. But now, he doesn't know anymore. The cook wouldn't have acted like he did, earlier today, if he really did hate him.

And maybe... Maybe the conversation they had was just that : a step towards friendship, or at least, a relationship just a tad more on the friendly side than what they had before. Which wasn't much, in retrospect. Somewhat playful bickering, mostly. A strong rivalry. Slight jealousy, on Zoro's part, anyway. Really, it wasn't much.

And now, what is it that they have? Certainly not much more than before, but Zoro can't help feeling like something changed.

And strangely, he can feel it physically as well. Some warm feeling, not really intense, but enough that it makes his head spin a little, and his heart beat a little faster. Maybe that's because of the sudden revelation. Or maybe it's only because he's tired right now. But indeed, there's warmth. On his shoulder, where the cook touched him earlier, in that awkward comforting gesture. Warmth in his heart, as well. That supposedly cold, stony little heart of his, that doesn't know how to show kindness in a casual, natural fashion, or without hiding it under a gruff exterior. His heart feels warmed by the cook's apparent concern for his well-being. Because, it was concern that was expressed there, wasn't it? Zoro frowns. He can barely believe that, after all this, Nami actually happened to be right. It seems like the idiot cook does care, after all, and what happened today just served to prove it.

He tenses imperceptibly, when the cook suddenly shifts in his sleep and, after mumbling a couple incomprehensible words, opens his eyes. Eyes so unmistakably blue, even in the dark of the room, that they pierce right through Zoro, whose heartbeat paces up, as the other stares at him sleepily.

They look at each other like that for what feels like hours to Zoro. Until the cook finally blinks, clears his throat discretely, and opens his mouth.

"Need anything?" He mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

Zoro frowns and narrows his eyes in concentration, before gulping nervously, still uneasy under that blue gaze not leaving his own. After a couple seconds, he replies in a low voice, trying not to let his nervousness seep through his tone.

"Nah. Go back to sleep, curly-brow."

Sanji eyes him, an unreadable look on his face for a couple seconds, which almost has Zoro squirming under that sleepy yet steady gaze. Finally, his eyes flutter, and Zoro can hear him sighs faintly as he drifts back to sleep.

And after his racing heartbeat quiets down, Zoro is soon to follow him into sleep's warm embrace.

***

He is walking in a dense forest, with tall, leafy trees. A few steps ahead, the shit cook is walking as well, in that confident pace of his, leading them through the thick foliage, which almost reaches the ground. They've been walking for a while in complete silence. He knows the cook has many things on his mind, and he doesn't dare bothering him with useless chatter. Not that it changes anything, anyway : that forest is to dense that it would smother any sound he'd try to make. Zoro can't even hear the wind, and it's so silent around them he'd almost think there's no animals in there.

He knows they're trying to reach the others. They left on their own some time ago, asked them to watch their back, to cover their tracks. And that's exactly what they're doing right now, going after them and making sure they didn't leave any signs of their presence.

The cook doesn't really seem to care, which aggravates him a little. But somehow, he knows it's useless bickering with the other about that. This is a hassle, but he knows that, as soon as they'll meet with the rest of the crew, everything will be alright. They'll be safe, and free to enjoy their time however they see fit. So, he keeps following, his eyes darting around for any signs betraying his friends' whereabouts.

He's starting to feel a little weary now. They've been walking for a long time, but curiously, it doesn't seem to unsettle the cook, who dutifully strides ahead, speeding up with each step.

_If he goes on like that, he'll outrun me in no time, and I'll be lost, Zoro thinks._

So, he tries to go faster, but suddenly, his feet feel like they're made of lead, and he actually ends up slowing down.

 _Cook!_ He calls. But his voice is muffled by the thick foliage, and doesn't even reach his own ears. _Hey, shit-cook! Wait for me!_

It's useless. The silence reverberates around him, as he falls behind, and the cook doesn't hear. Soon, he disappears behind branches and branches and branches, and Zoro is left alone.

He's quite upset at this act of desertion, and faintly hurt inside because of the other's painfully obvious lack of interest – _I thought we were friends, weren't we?_ But he isn't quite lost yet. If he goes on walking ahead, he'll eventually reach the edge of the forest, and he knows that when he does, he'll find the others.

He keeps walking, and soon realizes that he'll have to find the cook before leaving this forsaken place. Because, now that they've been separated, that idiot is most likely lost. And the more he walks, the more a feeling of urgency takes hold of his gut. He knows the shit-cook will not be able to manage getting out of here on his own. If Zoro doesn't find him, he'll keep wandering in that forest forever. And even if the cook abandoned him, Zoro will certainly not do the same. His core loyalty wouldn't let him. And they're friends, even if the other doesn't see him as such.

A torn twig on the ground catches his attention. It's nothing special, but with the way it was stepped on, somehow, he knows the cook was there before him. Now that he knows he's on the right tracks, he starts walking faster, keeping his eyes on the floor for other hints such as that one.

Soon enough, a faint light starts seeping through the dense foliage, and he thinks, _there it is, the edge_. He hurries through the last of the branches, which he parts with his arms, grunting under the strain of that effort. And finally emerges outside the undergrowth.

He's standing atop a high cliff. He looks up, and dark, stormy clouds fill the sky, as far as he can see. When he lowers his eyes, all he can see before him is acres and acres of thick, dark green forest, trees among trees among more _trees_.

He realizes he's lost so deep in the wood that he'll never manage to get out, no more than he'll manage to find the others. But what distresses him the most is the thought that, even if they're both trapped in here, there's not even a slight chance that he'll be able to reunite with Sanji.

He wants to cry in frustration, but the forest effectively smothers the sound.

***

"Marimo."

He doesn't hear the cook approach him, most likely because he's soundly napping when he does. But the sound of that irritating voice never fails to wake him. He would almost ignore him, feigning a deep sleep, because he's rarely woken up by the other for a pleasant reason. Ever. But the smell of cigarette smoke strengthens uncomfortably, so he cracks an eyelid open.

Only to dive in a sea of inconsistent, shimmering blue.

It takes him a moment to realize that he's peering in the cook's inquisitive eye, the other's face being mere inches away from his own, grinning wildly. Which has him jumping back briskly, so that he hits his head against the railing he was leaning on, in a rather violent fashion.

At his sudden reaction, the other stands up, and lets out a short laugh, before leaning casually on the railing, next to him. Zoro, rubbing his head where it hit the wooden planks, grunts painfully.

"You didn't have to do that." He grumbles through clenched teeth.

"My pleasure, moss-head." The cook laughs again, before deeply dragging on his cigarette.

"What do you want?" Zoro growls, his voice betraying his annoyance. He's always been a tad grumpy after waking up, and today is no exception. Especially not after being woken up like that.

The cook slowly exhales a large puff of smoke. He doesn't reply right away, instead, breathing in deeply. Zoro absentmindedly notices that the guy looks slightly tense. Is that a faint trembling of his hand, as he raises it to drag on the cigarette he's holding? But Zoro doesn't understand why the cook would be nervous, so he discards the thought altogether.

"Well... We're going for a drink tonight." He slowly replies, looking at the landscape – sea and clouds and blue sky, his voice sounding maybe just a tiny bit hesitant.

"Ah..." Zoro replies noncommittally, falling silent. That is, until his brain, still foggy from sleep, finally managing to process what the cook just said. His eyes dart up to look at the other's face, partly obscured by his long bangs. "Come again?"

Sanji sighs deeply, before replying in an overly bored tone.

"As I said," he starts, in a silly voice, as if he were talking to a five years old kid, "we're going for a drink. Tonight."

Zoro, dumbfounded, absentmindedly scratches his temple. This just doesn't sound right. Did the cook just invite him for a drink? Isn't he supposed to drink way too much, according to that nagging idiot? No, there's definitely no way. His mind is obviously having trouble waking up today. Maybe he should sleep a bit more, because he clearly misheard. Or maybe this is yet another dream.

"What makes you think I'd want to go with you?"

"I'm paying."

 _Yeah, definitely. I'm still sleeping, and I'm confusing another one of these silly dreams with reality._ But the painful bump on his head does hurt, after all. Maybe he's not dreaming. Maybe he's not even sleeping at all.

"Are you sure everything's alright? Hit your head?" He asks.

"Look who's talking..." He mutters. "You know what, moss-for-brain? Fuck you. I'm going for a drink tonight, and you're coming with me. And since we're leaving tomorrow, we're going tonight." The cook adds, once again displaying irritation, before dragging on his cigarette once more. "You should be grateful that I'm inviting you instead of wonderful Robin-chan and Nami-san, asshole."

Zoro's eyes slowly narrow, as he realizes the implications of that last retort. He looks up at the cook suspiciously.

"Wait a minute. They're not coming?"

The cook noisily exhales smoke, before turning his head and glancing at him sidewards.

"Nope. Just you and me." He adds after a while through clenched teeth, clearly irritated by Zoro's questioning.

Zoro slowly averts his eyes, which land on the wooden floor between his stretched legs. He has trouble believing what the cook just said, not to mention understanding what's going on in his mind. But he just woke up, still grumpy for the rude awakening, as well as the silly prank the cook pulled on him earlier. So, he decides to take his revenge. Now.

"Heh... Is that a date?" He sneers, not really realizing how awkward this could sound. Or if he does, he successfully manages to muffle the thought.

"Huh? What the hell are you implying, shithead?

With the way the cook is now fuming, Zoro knows he managed to score, this time. He lets out a short laugh before speaking again.

"So, is it?"

"Fuck you!"

A very aggravated Sanji throws a kick in his direction, which he swiftly dodges. But another kick comes, and then another, and soon, he's forced to draw his swords to deflect the anger-powered blows. It's been a while since they last had a proper, gratifying fight. Parrying and attacking in turns, again and again, Zoro feels elated. The cook's face is a tad red, perhaps because of the earlier embarrassment at his comments, or perhaps in anger. Or perhaps it's just the fighting's exertion. Whatever. Zoro doesn't need to know. All he knows is that he feels strangely comforted by the familiar sight. Dodging another blow, he absentmindedly reckons that Sanji looks a lot more alluring when angry. Much more than when he's sulking. But the thought is drowned in the fight's exaltation.

The other scowls and shouts at him, infuriated, but Zoro's having so much fun he can't help but grin like a madman.

 _That's the cook I know_ , he thinks, grunting faintly when he's a bit too slow to evade a kick, which catches him right in the head, and has him tumbling on the floor. But he quickly gets up, and advances towards the cook for more.

They fight and fight, throwing insults at each others. Zoro's muscles feel warm, as he exerts himself with what suspiciously feels like glee to deflect yet another blow. Just as warm as his face, where Sanji's dark shoe collided with his head. As warm as his chest, as that same shoe clashes with his crossed swords, once again. A warmth that, in retrospect, he knows he'll always come to associate with Sanji's silly bouts of anger, so easily aroused.

***

The bar smells a little like stale ale and grease, but it isn't so bad that Zoro would feel sick. And despite the smell, the beer is good enough for him.

They are sitting in the back of the room, and from their vantage point, they can see almost everyone who's present there tonight. The place is that it's far from empty, yet not packed either. For the best, Zoro thinks, because he likes drinking in a quiet atmosphere, whenever he can.

He didn't really take the cook's invitation seriously, earlier this afternoon. Which is why he was a little surprised when the other came to him after they were done having diner. They bickered a bit, Zoro unwilling to comply, suspecting some typical cook bullshit. But by the end of that conversation, the cook ended up dragging him towards the docks by his shirt's collar – by now, Zoro's given all hope up in that regard : all his collars have loosened quite a bit in the past few months. Not that he cares about that. Not anymore. And anyway, a shirt that's still in one piece is a good shirt, and a wearable one, whatever the occasion. He's not manically fussy over his own appearance, like the shit-cook.

The latter sits next to him, on one of those slightly rickety chairs, staple of such establishments. They've been drinking in silence since they got there. A slightly awkward silence, that is. Zoro himself has never been very talkative to begin with, and the cook is again in one of those thoughtful moods of his. It feels weird to Zoro, and unsettles him a little. Seems like the normalcy of the earlier outburst didn't last much. But it doesn't matter, because the beer isn't bad, and he's already having his fourth. The cook, slowly sipping on some wine that Zoro is pretty sure isn't refined at all, has been quite generous, until now. Which is weird in itself, but he won't complain. The guy is paying for the booze, after all.

He glances up at the cook when the latter suddenly clears his throat. Obviously, the guy is about to say something, so, he waits patiently.

"That girl over there, marimo."

He nods towards the far side of the room, near the counter. There's only one girl in the bar. A waitress, currently chatting merrily with the barman, having no customer to attend for now. Zoro looks at her, and at the same moment, she glances in his direction. As soon as she realizes he's staring, she averts her eyes, never stopping her conversation.

He relaxes in his chair, and bestows himself with a couple generous gulps of beer from his tankard.

"What about her?"

The cook drags lengthily on his cigarette before answering.

"Is she your type?"

Zoro almost throws an ironic retort. But he refrains himself from doing so. There's something in the cook's eyes right now, some kind of sad quality that eerily reminds him of that conversation they had, weeks earlier, on the rear deck. At that time, the cook had seemed to be in some sort of meditative, gloomy mood, just like tonight. And like tonight, he asked him another question, a rather personal one, that he had trouble answering.

Zoro doesn't know what caused the mood, nor does he know what prompted the question, that day just the same as now. But he remembers the look on the cook's face, the same as tonight. Indeed, he thinks, he's the cook's nakama, as much as he is for everyone else in their small, assorted crew. He's supposed to look out for them. For him. And, as he now knows, it's not just about being reliable, practically speaking. Thus, because he'd rather not see such a pained expression on the other's face ever again, instead of sneering and trying to irritate him, he gives the girl another look, and tries to figure out if she's his type, or not.

Leaning over the counter, she's wearing a fluttery, above-the-knee-length skirt with what looks like at least two layers of lacy petticoat underneath, and what seems to be a man's shirt, tied at her waist. He can't see much of her ass, but the knee-high socks she's wearing highlight her long, shapely legs. She's also has gorgeous, flamboyant red-hair, flowing freely in her back, though, he reckons, it's not the same color as Nami's at all. The navigator's hair is definitely ginger, more of an orange tone, whereas this girl's is a deep, cherry red. She leans back against the counter, turning towards him, and catching him looking at her again. She smiles, and he notices the dimples in her cheeks, as well as a small gap between her front teeth, which immediately reminds him of his childhood friend. Her front teeth were like that, too, and he remembers finding that equally exasperating and charming, as a child.

But he doesn't really feel moved by her cute face. She's just a waitress in some random bar, on some random island. He leans back in his chair.

"I don't really have a type," he replies slowly. He falls silent for a while, trying to find the words to express his appreciation, but also his obvious lack of attraction for her. "But I guess she's pretty." He finishes unimaginatively in a somewhat reluctant fashion.

"Hmm." Sanji answers absentmindedly, before crushing his cigarette stub in a nearby ashtray. "She's been watching you on and off, since we got there."

"Ah." Zoro replies, obviously unimpressed, before finishing his beer.

As he does, Sanji calls the red-haired waitress and orders more beer, as well as another bottle of wine for himself, profusely complimenting her at this occasion. And they fall silent again.

This, Zoro suddenly decides, is very, very weird. They're here, just the two of them, the cook buying him drink after drink in that almost but not really companionable silence. It isn't that bad, yet he can't help but think the shit-cook had an ulterior motive for inviting him. So, after debating whether he should question the cook about it or not, and how he should proceed with that, he opens his mouth.

"Why did you take me here?" He inquires rather bluntly, unable to find a subtle way to ask.

The cook glances at him, only to look away a couple seconds later. He leans forwards, and, his elbows on the table before him, rests his chin on crossed hands.

"I didn't think you were the type to enjoy high-class restaurants, marimo. If I had known you had such delicate tastes, I would have taken you to a finer place."

"That's not what I meant, curly-brow. I mean, why did you invite me?" Zoro asks, slightly annoyed at the other's perpetual tendency to beat around the bush.

The cook sighs, and leans back in his chair, reaching into his breast-pocket for another cigarette. He lights up, and after exhaling slowly, replies.

"You didn't look so good, these past few days." He pauses, absentmindedly watching the smoke disappearing into thin air. "I though it would help get your mind off things."

"Huh." Zoro replies, dumbfounded.

The waitress interrupts their conversation, a tray in her hand. She puts the cook's wine on the table, and of course, that idiot thanks her over-exaggeratedly, in a flowery language. Then, she places not one, but two new beer tankards in front of Zoro.

"The second one's on the house," she says, all smiling eyes and dimples and cute gap-between-teeth, before returning to her vantage point at the counter.

Zoro is left frowning, eying the two glasses suspiciously. When he hears the faint laugh beside him, he grabs one and glances at the cook over the edge, irritatedly drowning the beverage in long gulps.

"Told you." The cook is smiling, but he looks bitter, most likely because the waitress seems to prefer a rough exterior to a classy one, Zoro reckons. "You should go for it."

"I'm not interested." He replies flatly.

"I wonder why," the cook replies wistfully, before turning his eyes towards the waitress, who's now attending some new customers. "She's so pretty." He adds in a delighted sigh.

A couple minutes pass, before he starts speaking again.

"I wonder why it is that women seem to like wearing guy's shirts."

 _No kidding_ , Zoro thinks, nose deep in his tankard. He can already feel tension in his gut, as he tries not to think. He doesn't want to think, right now. Especially not about red-haired girls wearing men's shirts. He breathes in deeply, trying not to let the cook notice his discomfort at his last statement, and hopes he won't elaborate, or better, switch over another topic soon.

"I hear Nami-san's been using mine as sleepwear."

Zoro almost chokes on his beer at these words. Fortunately, he's got enough self-control, and manages to avoid that. Nevertheless, he can't prevent his heartbeat from accelerating, no more than he can prevent unwanted questions from forming in his mind. He frowns. How the hell does the shit-cook knows about Nami's sleeping habits? He managed to muffle most of the faint jealousy his fucking dream sparked off, but he can feel it's now back with a vengeance, thanks to the cook not-so-innocent remark.

But the other is now watching him intently, though he doesn't look suspicious, or anything similar. On the contrary, there's something that looks more like a challenge in his eyes. Is the shit-cook trying to provoke him? As the other opens his mouth, Zoro can't help but hold his breath, waiting for him to speak.

"Don't make such a face, moss-head. It's not like dear Nami-swan has ever shown such interest towards me." He sighs. "Things might have been easier if she'd done that. Or maybe not."

He sighs again, and Zoro can see he's telling the truth. There's way too much genuine dismay in his eyes for him to be lying, and the swordsman himself was almost certain that there was never more than friendship between the two to begin with. Or rather, adoration on Sanji's part, and friendly disinterest on Nami's.

He should feel relieved, but there's still something that unsettles him about what the cook said. The way he said it, actually.

"Why –" He starts asking, but stops abruptly, wondering if he really wants to know, with a sudden foreboding feeling of dread.

However, the cook once again seems to understand where his mind is headed, and soon speaks up.

"Why am I telling you this?" He sighs deeply, before glancing at Zoro and glaring at him challengingly. "Come on, marimo. I'm not stupid. Besides, you should have seen your face. The very image of consternation."

Zoro feels his heart sink, and maybe he's actually panicking, just a tiny bit. Before he can think about it, his lips part and the words that will cause his demise escape from his suddenly dry throat – despite all the beer he just absorbed.

"What do you mean?"

The cook slowly shakes his head.

"What I mean," he says slowly, "is that I know of your little secret."


	11. Drink to forget the coming storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know, until then, I thought you were quite the asexual type, marimo."

Falling. From a cliff higher than the sky. Hanging from the edge of his chair, about to tumble. Gripping the table, his knuckles whitening under the strain he's putting on them. Or maybe drowning. Yeah, he is downing in a bathtub, in a glass of water, and his lungs are on fire.

"What?"

To merely say Zoro is destabilized would never do justice to the confused, tremendous tension he feels right now.

The cook's face darkens at his lame retort, and he lets out a frustrated growl, crushing his stub in the ashtray in a motion betraying his irritation.

"How can I say it, so that you'll finally get that into your little marimo brain? I – know – about – you – and – Nami." He tensely says through clenched teeth, before adding : "And don't make a mountain out of a molehill. It's not the end of the world."

Zoro can almost feel his face blanching. His jaw tenses, and he can just hopes his anxiety isn't too obvious. He breathes in deeply, trying to regain at least a bit of his usual composure. Which doesn't prevent him from speaking before even thinking of restrain himself.

"How –" He starts, but the cook abruptly cuts him off, obviously aggravated at the slowness of his reactions.

"How did I find out? Oh, come on, meat-head. You haven't exactly been subtle or quiet, you know, and I sleep late." He lets out an unamused laugh. "I can't believe you two started that shit right above my head, and thought, even for a second, that I wouldn't notice."

Zoro lets out a strangled sound despite steeling himself to remain stoic about this all. Truly, he feels devastated. He doesn't know what kind of face he's making right now, but he's pretty sure his usual frowning exterior is all but gone. Of course, he never wanted the cook to know. Obviously. Even dreaded it, he admits begrudgingly. Because this would cause all different kinds of problems, for one thing. Embarrassing him – and Nami. Earning the disapproval of their friends, if such a thing was spread. And, of course, hurting the cook. Curiously, he now finds out that the guy admitting that he knows of their affair distresses him even more than Nami ending it. He doesn't quite understand why yet, but he can't really think about it for now. He wouldn't be able to, even if he tried.

"When –"

"When did I notice? A couple months ago, when she more or less molested you in the orchard. You know, the night I let you take that high-quality sake. I went out for a smoke, because I couldn't sleep, and... Yeah."

From the beginning, or nearly, then?

And he finally realizes how much of a fool he's been. So stupidly careless, that he didn't even noticed the cook was out there, that one time. So fucking arrogant that, all this time, he thought he had them all fooled, when actually, he'd been found out right from the start. And the cook knows everything that transpired between them, because he actually heard them. Having sex.

Oh shit...

He couldn't feel more humiliated.

That is, until the cook chuckles and goes on. "It was quite fun to hear, actually. You know, until then, I thought you were quite the asexual type, marimo."

Obviously, Zoro was wrong before. It's getting worse. He now feels absolutely shamed to the core, and desperately tries not to let it show, trying to keep what's left of his composure and dignity – which isn't much, as far as the latter is concerned. He feels like it's spilling through his fingers like sand.

"Shut it, you sorry excuse for a cook." He almost spits through clenched teeth, willing his voice to convey his current anger and spite at the cooks words.

He doesn't think it worked too well, though, because Sanji doesn't even react to the insult he just threw. He just keeps smirking in that disturbingly bitter fashion.

"What's wrong, moss-head? Why the sulking face? You got the girl, and I didn't." The shit-cook sighs deeply, and fishes for yet another smoke. "I should be the one sulking."

Zoro doesn't reply. Maybe it's best to just stop talking, for now. Indeed, he doesn't want to talk with the shit cook anymore. Not ever again.

And indeed, he must have made a weird face, somehow betraying his dismay – though he won't admit what it is that he feels, certainly not in front of the shit-cook. Because that idiot is peering at him with a peculiar look on his face. It's not really pity Zoro can see in the other's eyes. Or maybe it is. Whatever. At least, he's not talking for now. And since he doesn't look like he's going to rub salt into Zoro's wounds anymore, the latter relaxes a bit. Though he's far from feeling at ease right now.

The air stands still between them, for a split second, or maybe four, or for hours, for all Zoro knows, before the cook finally breaks it.

"Ah." A pause. "You..." He trails off hesitantly and falls silent again. "Sorry about that." He finally whispers in an apologetic tone, so softly that Zoro doesn't know afterward if he really heard that, if the cook said it at all.

The awkward silence stretches between them, thick like days-old gravy, left to dry in the sun. Sanji keeps ordering more drinks, muttering something about himself being an asshole, but Zoro barely hears him. Nevertheless, he drowns every single beer the cute waitress places in front of him, an interrogative frown on her delicate features when she notices his most likely troubled face.

Before long, Zoro starts feeling a tad better. He doesn't know if it's because of the booze – booze that the cook's paying for – or if it's because of the other's obvious guilt about teasing him earlier. But his animosity died down some time ago. Right now, he feels rather empty. And maybe a tad tipsy.

Yeah, in the end, he ponders that the cook is right. It's definitely not the end of the world. The other doesn't seem to think so, anyway. He's been aware of the whole thing from the start, and didn't tell anyone. Maybe he can trust him not to make a huge fuss about it, after all.

Things will be alright, Zoro decides. Maybe that's only the alcohol in his system speaking, because he's about comfortably drunk, by now. But, as he soon realizes, the cook doesn't fare any better. That idiot has always been a light-weight, when it comes to alcohol, and from the numerous empty wine bottles on their table, he's clearly drunk way too much.

"Women."

He glances at the other, who said that word with a very weird mix of adoration and contempt that only a shitfaced cook with such a complex, convoluted, perverted mind could manage. His cheeks are red, and if he's not wasted yet, with the way he's drowning that wine, Zoro's pretty sure he'll get to that part soon.

"Yeah. Women." He snorts.

"Even when you give them the best you have," the cook adds after a while, his speech slightly slurred by the alcohol he drowned, "they're never satisfied."

"You look more than happy to oblige, most of the time." Zoro snickers, though being thoroughly unamused. To tell the truth, he is honestly curious as to why, of all things, such a self-proclaimed gentleman would complain about girls like that.

"Yeah. They deserve it." The other mutters.

"Make up your mind, curlycue."

And they fall silent again, until the cook straightens on his chair with some apparent difficulty, and glares at Zoro.

"I hope you treated her well. If you broke her heart, I'll kick your ass."

Zoro almost chuckles at the irony of that threat. But he settles on smirking somewhat bitterly instead.

"I don't think so. She's the one who ended it, you know."

"Ah." The cook frowns, obviously thinking hard about his next retort. "Were you in love?"

For the second time that night, Zoro's spurting his beer back in its tankard. Narrowing his eyes, he turns towards the shit-cook. He can't sort through his own feelings to begin with. Also, with the booze, and, admittedly – though not without great reluctance – the shock from the earlier revelation, he doesn't feel like lying to the inebriated cook. He might not even remember this in the morning, anyway. He glares at the guy for a while, before begrudgingly replying, his tone neutral.

"I don't know."

The cook smirks tiredly.

"There you go again. Unable to figure your own feelings out."

"It's not that simple, asshole." Zoro growls. Though he knows the cook is right, he's certainly not letting him gain any satisfaction from that, or even from managing to get on his nerves. Not too much, anyway.

"Ah." The cook replies slowly. He sips on his glass, before adding : "You look pretty heartbroken to me, though. As much as a meat-head like you could, anyway."

Zoro grunts dismissively.

"Doesn't matter, anyway. It was a mistake from the start."

"Hmm?"

Zoro gulps down on his beer greedily, before going on, not as reluctantly as he would usually expect, coming from himself. It's definitely the booze talking. And it certainly doesn't make him feel better one bit.

"I'm the first mate. I'm supposed to look out for you all, to protect this crew. And look at me now : I'm here, getting wasted with you, of all people, because I wasn't even able to protect myself from such a silly thing as that... that... that thing, whatever it was." He sighs. "I don't even know what to call it. It wasn't even as much as a relationship, but..." He trails off, unsure what word would fit.

"It was more than just a fling?" Sanji offers noncommittally.

"Yeah. That." He concedes with faint irritation. "Whatever. Still... I should have been able to keep myself out of that mess." He mutters, drowning the last of his beer and drying his mouth on his wrist in a slightly bitter motion. "Such a waste of my time."

Zoro doesn't think he's ever said that many words to the cook all at once. Or even to anyone. It feels weird. But actually, maybe he does feel a bit better, after all.

"Maybe you should start worrying about yourself before trying to protect your crew-mates when they don't need it." Sanji snorts drunkenly. "Also, love isn't a waste of time."

"Love? What a joke. Whatever." He bitterly sneers at the cook. "Are you happy?"

"Why would I be happy?" The cook asks, his eyes slightly hazy, but a strangely genuine feeling of surprise tinting his features.

"Because you must have been dying of jealousy, aren't you? You should rejoice. Though I only got what I deserved, in the end."

The cook averts his eyes, and after a while, lets out a deep sigh.

"You really don't know me at all, do you?" He finally says, a faint irritation in his voice. "I may be jealous, yeah. But I certainly won't rejoice about such a thing."

If he wasn't so buzzed from all the alcohol he had this evening, Zoro would be quite taken aback. Shouldn't the cook be happy about the mess he's gotten himself into?

"However," the cook adds after a while, "I have to admit I'm a little pissed that you think so little of me. But maybe I shouldn't be surprised." He sighs again, and rubs his hands over his eyes tiredly. "I'm such an idiot."

"Huh...?"

The other turns back to him, and Zoro can see the cook is pissed. Actually, surprisingly, really pissed. Right now, he looks like he can barely contain his anger. And maybe he looks a tad hurt, too.

"I'm an idiot, because I thought that you looked a bit, you know, depressed, lately. And, as the fucking idiot I am, I thought that I'd help you take your mind off whatever shit troubled you. I thought I'd try being nice for a change, asshole." He spits, his voice steadily rising as he keeps talking. "But what should I expect from such an ungrateful bastard, anyway? You don't know a thing about me. You don't even try to understand a thing about me." He pauses, and, resting his chin on his hand, elbow on the table, looks at the room, nearly empty by that time. "Or how I feel right now."

Zoro can't help but see his point. It's true that he doesn't understand how the cook's mind works. Despite his recent realization of the similarities between them, he and Sanji are way too different in that regard for him to really comprehend him entirely. And actually, he does feel a bit guilty for not giving him more credit. Which, considering all the beer in his system right now, beer that the guy's been willingly paying for, because he was concerned about Zoro's well-being, may be well deserved.

"Try me." He says in an almost but not quite apologetic tone.

The cook's eyes dart up at him, before he lets out another sigh, his anger seemingly dying out.

"It's no use. You don't know how it feels to want something, and know you'll never even come close to having it. I mean," he adds, rubbing his hands against his legs in a frustrated motion, "you always manage to get what you want."

"What the hell?"

"Yeah. You get booze, even when I try to prevent you from doing so. Girls, too. Nami, to begin with, and –" he nods at the waitress, who's currently scrubbing one of the now empty tables over there "– even her. She'd be all yours to snatch if you only decided to. And also, there's your dream." He looks up at Zoro, but is quick to avert his eyes, a wistful, slightly bitter smile on his face. "I don't doubt that, one day, you'll be the best in the world. You're an asshole, but you're good at what you do. There's no denying that."

Now, that's something new. He suspected, before, that the cook might be jealous of him – for all kinds of stupid reasons. However, he never knew that the cook had so much respect – he doesn't dare say admiration here, but it's there, in the back of his mind – for him. Respect he certainly doesn't deserve, after what happened in the past few months. After the way he treated the guy, when he was only trying to cheer him up. This, as well as his faith in Zoro's abilities – though he himself knows he still has a long way to go, has the swordsman warming up quite a bit. Around the face, mostly – and if it weren't for his tanned complexion, Zoro knows he'd be sporting a magnificent blush right now – but also in his chest. He's generally not weak to compliments, but... This is the shit-cook. Coming from him, it must mean something, right? Talk about a confidence boost, he thinks.

But it also means more, he realizes, though only faintly, in his alcohol-induced daze. It means the cook trusts him. And the thought occurs to him that, maybe, the guy really doesn't hate him as much as he used to think.

He clears his throat to hide his embarrassment. The cook, his arms crossed on the table and his head resting on that makeshift pillow, is peering at him from under his blond bangs.

"Well... Thanks."

He can't see the cook smirking, but surely, the way his eyes shine through that blond curtain of hair gives him away.

"You know you're kind of cute, when you're embarrassed?" He teases, raising a wavering hand to poke at his hair.

Yeah, right, Zoro thinks. Seeing the jerkiness in the other's movements, he realizes that the guy is pretty much wasted. He glares at him, but the inebriated cook doesn't seem to notice.

"I'm not like you. Most of the time, what I want escapes me." Sanji finally adds, letting his arm fall back on the table, and resting his head there with a tired sigh. "I don't even know if I'll ever be able to find All Blue, because it probably doesn't exist to begin with."

Zoro doesn't know what to say to that. He would like to comfort the other, but – well. He's bad at it. He doesn't know how to handle a drunken, depressed cook. But he can't really leave it like that, can he? And since this friendship thing with the cook, or whatever it is, doesn't seem to feel that bad, in the end, he decides to return the favor. Even if just a little bit. He finally sets on tackling the matter sideways.

"You know, about what you said earlier..." He says thoughtfully. "The part where you'll never get what you want."

"Hmm?"

"I don't really see you trying seriously."

Yeah, he thinks. Surely, the cook's antics around their female crew-mates – or anyone with boobs and a skirt – are a turn off to them. The guy isn't bad looking, and he's a smooth talker most of the time. But he just tries too hard, Zoro reckons.

"I think I'll pass." Sanji mutters sleepily from the crook of his arms. "That would be way too reckless."

"It doesn't matter." Zoro replies in a tone that leaves no room for protests.

"What do you mean?" The other glances at him, curiosity in his one visible eye.

"We're pirates." Zoro grins. "Everything we do is reckless."

He seems to ponder about it for a while, until a small smile slowly starts creeping on his flushed face.

"You're right." Sanji finally answers, grinning back at Zoro, which, curiously, has him feeling warm, even warmer than the earlier respect and admiration.

Yeah. It doesn't feel that bad.

He gulps his last beer down, and after setting the tankard on the table, he stands up.

"Come on, shit-cook." He grabs the other by the arm, helps him get on his wobbly feet, and, after retrieving enough money to pay for their last drinks from Sanji's pockets, carefully pushes him towards the exit. "It's late. Let's go back to the ship."

ooo

"Don't get ourselves lost, marimo."

"Shut up, shit-cook, and let me think."

"Huh? Where and when did you learn to do that? I thought moss didn't think."

Obviously, the cook's complaints aren't going to help, not one bit. After walking for about half an hour, they still haven't reached the port, where the ship is anchored. Whereas it barely took them ten minutes to get to the bar, earlier that evening, when the cook was leading the way.

Obviously, they're lost.

"Damn you, moss-head. I knew this would happen."

"Stop talking and try helping, instead of complaining." Zoro growls. "Or sober up, and tell me what way we should go."

The cook's speech is still slurred from all the alcohol he had, but after walking for a while, he seems to get a tad better. Just a tad, though, because Zoro still had to slide his arm around the other's thinner frame, and help him walk. That idiot drank himself stupid, so badly that he could barely stand up at first.

"Are you finally admitting that you're directionally-challenged?" Sanji snorts against Zoro's shoulder, his arm around the other's neck, so he can use him as walking support.

"Shut your trap, and walk!"

They start again, thought Zoro has the nagging feeling the port is in a completely different direction than the one they're heading for. But since the cook's currently of no use in that regard, he has no other choice but to go on advancing.

"You know, Zoro..."

I'd better keep him talking, because if he passes out, I'll have to drag him to the ship. Or worse, get him there on my back. He shivers at the thought. What a hassle.

"Yeah?"

"You were right, earlier." The other mutters drunkenly.

"About what?"

"I'm not really trying." The cook sighs deeply on Zoro's shoulder, before adding : "I'm a coward."

Zoro snorts at that comment.

"You? A coward? Nah, that's Usopp. You're braver than most men I've encountered, emo-cook*."

"Thanks. But I know I am."

"Bullshit."

They fall silent for a while, and it's only thanks to the cook's unsteady steps that Zoro knows he's still awake.

"But you know..." The other adds after a while.

"Hmm?"

"That reckless thing I told you about... I think I'm gonna do it." He says in a slightly firmer voice.

"Good for you." Zoro snorts gently.

"Will you help me?"

"Yeah, yeah... Keep walking."

But as they turn left to take a narrow, dark alley, the cook suddenly stops him from going further. He stands up with difficulty, using Zoro's shoulder to steady himself as he faces him, and peers at him in a peculiar fashion.

"Will you?"

The cook's eyes are very serious, all of a sudden, and his voice isn't that shaky anymore. But what he just said almost sounded like a plea, and Zoro's annoyance softens a bit.

"Yeah. What do you need me to do?" He asks.

"Ok..." The cook clears his throat, and slowly pushes Zoro into the nearest wall before he has a chance to protest.

Zoro doesn't know if that was intended, or if the cook was merely thrown off balance, dragging him along, the result of too much cheap wine. Though he shouldn't have so much strength left, for a guy so drunk, he thinks idly. But he doesn't dwell on it, because he's a little drunk as well, slightly dizzy. Actually, this is all feeling really weird, all of a sudden. And the other has that determined look on his face, which leads Zoro to think that wall thing was exactly what the cook has in mind.

The guy unsteadily straightens himself, and peers at Zoro from under his bangs, a peculiar gleam in his eyes. Zoro doesn't really know what to think of that, but he has the feeling he won't like where this is going.

"Now, marimo..." Sanji starts, his grip on Zoro's shoulders softening a bit, now that he successfully steadied himself.

"Wait, shit-cook." Zoro cuts him rather abruptly. "What do you mean, now?"

"Yeah. Now. You're still with me? Not gonna change your mind, are you?" He says, his voice filled with slight uncertainty, and his eyes intent on Zoro's face.

"…No, I won't." He replies hesitantly.

The weight from the cook's hands, still resting on his shoulders, suddenly turn lighter, almost gentle.

"Good. Close your eyes." He orders, and waits for Zoro to do so.

"Er... Yeah. What are you going to do?" It's getting a little too weird for Zoro's taste, and he'd like to know what's on Sanji's mind before complying.

He almost expected the cook to start smirking in a teasing fashion, but the look on his face, though it's a little too much on the drunken side to really be taken seriously, is rather tense. Almost grim, actually, and on the verge of something that looks like ire and self-aggravation and perplexity at the same time, with a hint of hesitation. Very far from a smile, to say the least. He doesn't know why, but that look is slightly unsettling.

"Something reckless." He says, before slowly leaning forward.

Zoro does close his eyes. At the same time, he turns his head to the side, almost expecting a blow, but not quite. Deep within himself, he knows that it's not a blow the cook has in mind. He's quite certain of that. If Zoro had to be totally honest with himself, he would admit he saw it coming, somehow. He just doesn't want to believe it, nor admit this is really happening.

The other's lips graze against his cheek, until the intended, somewhat sloppy kiss lands awkwardly on his jaw.

This is it. I've had enough.

Zoro suddenly grabs the cook's shoulders, and pushes him back, though he's careful not to let him fall on his ass. He doesn't really want to hurt his drunken nakama. Or maybe he actually does, since this is a little too much bullshit for him to handle, to be honest. But he refrains, for now. He simply wants some room between them, somewhat desperate to regain some personal space.

"What the hell?" He almost shouts, before remembering they're surrounded by houses, where people are currently sleeping, and he's absolutely not freaking out, dammit. He breathes in deeply, before speaking again, growling in a much lower voice, a deep, aggravated frown on his face. "That was weird, shit-cook."

"That wasn't weird. It was reckless." The other mutters, obviously irritated about the fact Zoro didn't let him go through with whatever his stupid idea was.

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind. I'm not helping anymore. What the hell..." He trails off, glaring at the cook, who suddenly seems to realize what he just tried doing. Which might explain the sudden raging redness on his face. Or maybe that's just the alcohol at work.

"I... Sorry." The cook whispers in a slightly apologizing tone, as his arms slide down Zoro's shoulder to rest on his forearms for support.

Right now, he's the very image of self-mortification. His bangs are falling lifelessly on his face, obscuring his eyes. His mouth is upturned in what looks like a bitter scowl, which has Zoro feeling very puzzled. Because, unsurprisingly, it reminds him of that depressed look that Sanji's been occasionally sporting for the past months.

Guilt starts tugging insistently at his chest, though he does his best to ignore the feeling, when he realizes his reaction triggered the shit-cook into feeling like that. So, instead of berating him even more, he patiently waits for the cook to move, or at least, explain himself. He knows that, even shitfaced like he currently is, that womanizing idiot would never try to try that with one of his male crew-mates – especially not himself – if he didn't have a very good reason. Or at least, a reason that somewhat makes sense in his own twisted mind.

And, much to his own surprise, he finds himself curious about what's going on in the cook's mind, right now.

"I'm sorry." The guy repeats after a while, almost hesitantly, glancing at Zoro but quick to avert his eyes, a small, slightly bitter smile on his lips. "Told you it was a shitty idea."

"Well, yeah, it was." Zoro grunts. "But tell me, before I kick your ass : how is that a part of getting closer to what you want?"

The cook takes his sweet time answering, but after a while, finally opens his mouth.

"It is. Can we just leave it at that?"

Zoro sighs, and glares again.

"Just get it done with, and tell me why you suddenly started getting all... you know what I mean." Zoro finishes lamely, not willing to use any kind of word related to kissing – or, hell forbid, snogging. "With me, of all people. It was weird. Keep that for some chick who'll be unfortunate enough to cross your way."

He sighs, leans back against the wall, and removes one of his hands from the cook's shoulder, to run through his short hair. He must be a little more drunk than he'd first thought, because his next words would have definitely stayed unspoken if he were sober.

"Aren't you supposed to hate me, anyway?" He asks.

The cook replies something in a muffled voice, that Zoro can't really make out. He raises an interrogative eyebrow at the cook, who looks up at the same moment. Once again, he's quick to avert his eyes, but not before Zoro can see the uneasiness on his face.

"You don't understand." The cook adds after a while in a more intelligible voice, though faintly hesitant. "I'm... It has to be you." He struggles, and it's almost as if he was forcing himself to utter each word.

"Huh?" Zoro grunts. "Why?"

"Because."

At that final display of ill-will, Zoro almost ups and leaves the cook right there. That asshole can find his way back in the morning, when he's sober, and sleep in that alley in the meantime. But he doesn't. There's absolutely no way he'll abandon his shitfaced nakama in a dark, narrow street, on an unknown island. Especially not when he looks up at him like that, with eyes so sad. Not when it's partly his fault.

"Look, shit-cook." He says in a slightly stern tone. "This is really, really weird, and there are limits to my patience." Not that I'm very patient to begin with, he thinks. Whatever. That's not the point anyway. "But I'm sure you have very good reasons to act like this, and I'm trying to understand." He pauses, and clears his throat before going on. "So, if you really want my help, then you'd better tell me exactly what's on your mind. And after I hear it, maybe I'll decide whether or not it's worth the trouble, and still help you with whatever your stupid idea is."

Of course, Zoro certainly doesn't intend on letting the shit-cook kiss him. Ever. But he reckons that, maybe a little incentive will help loosen his tongue a bit. And when he understands why that dumbass though it was a good idea, when clearly, it's not, maybe he can talk him out of it. Or even find a better way to help him. He hates being manipulative like that – being around Nami must have rubbed off on him, somehow – but it's not like he promised anything, anyway.

The other's eyes are now glued to Zoro's shoulder. He's frowning, as if wondering on whether to tell him or not. Finally, he licks his lips nervously, and opens his mouth.

"I..." He pauses, searching for his words, and closes his eyes. "That's the closest I'll ever get. To what I want." He finally replies, in an unsteady, muffled voice.

For fuck's sake. Now, Zoro understands a little better what's on the cook's mind. These last words enlightened his mind with such sudden clarity that he stops pushing the other away altogether. And he now knows that he can't help the cook, however willing he is, because, aside from the bastard's stupid idea, there not much he can do.

Obviously, according to that idiot, Zoro used to be a lot closer to Nami than he'll ever be. And since he doesn't think he'll ever have a chance, he most likely thought that, if he got closer to Zoro as well, this will be the closest he'll ever get to the girl he likes. Which is why that dumbass cook tried to kiss him, a couple minutes ago.

Zoro grunts disbelievingly, shaking his head. What kind of bullshit is this? Typical of the idiotic cook's twisted, perverted mind. Besides, this is way too much closeness for him. And even though that would be the only way to help him, there's no way that he'll comply, right? He shivers when remnants of a dream he had, a while ago, flutter in his dazed mind.

No way.

He sighs, and while using the wall he never left as support, because he feels a bit tired all of a sudden, he looks down at the cook. Down, because even though the other is about as tall as he is, he's currently looking at his own shoes rather intently, as if his confession took everything out of him. His hair falls over his face, looking as soft as ever. His hands have left Zoro's arms a while ago, and are now limply hanging along his body. His shoulders are slumped with what curiously looks more like disappointment than embarrassment or humiliation. Zoro can feel dismay seeping through his posture, though he can't even see his face. It makes him feel bad for the cook, in an unusual compassionate impulse, especially towards the guy. He wants to help him, he truly does. And he would, if only he could. But there's no way, no way he'll comply with what the cook has in mind.

The cook can barely stand up now, his slender frame – though the cook's not really thin, but still thinner than Zoro – swaying dangerously. He manages to keep standing there for a while, until he suddenly stumbles forward, and Zoro can only slightly rush to slide his arms under Sanji's, to prevent him from falling on the floor. He grabs Zoro's right upper arm and his left shoulder, and raises himself to a standing position again, albeit with difficulty, but doesn't dare let go of him yet. Instead, he rests his forehead on the swordsman's shoulder. Zoro starts a little at that motion, but reluctantly lets him. He doesn't really have a choice. The guy can barely stand.

"I think I'm drunk, shit-head." He sighs against Zoro's shirt, who can feel his warm breath against his skin, through the fabric.

Huh, no kidding.

The cook's so wasted that he hasn't even thought of lighting a cigarette, while they were still walking.

"Come on, curly-brow. Get a grip of yourself and move."

The cook groans painfully against his shoulder, tries to stand up, only to fall back against Zoro's chest.

"I just need a minute."

Zoo sighs, and waits patiently. There's not much else he can do, anyway. They stand there for a while, him trying not to pay too much attention to the warmth from Sanji's body, slumped against his. If he was little more sober, feeling a little less guilty, he'd probably think that this is much too close for his own comfort, especially after the weird thing the cook just tried to pull on him, and wouldn't allow it. But he's far from sober, he feels more guilty than he'd like to admit, and he's very much unable to think right now. The cook's slackening body is distractingly slipping, and every once in a while, Zoro has to readjust his grip under the other's arms. But it's pretty much useless, because the guy's legs seem boneless right now, unable to support him. Without thinking, he slides his arms around the cook's waist, so he can have a better hold on him, only faintly aware that their current position is very weird.

There's no way.

He's never been so physically close to another man, outside of fights. He's never really thought he would, one day, and thus, never thought about what it would feel like either. But, as he lets his mind wander, waiting for the cook to recover, he finds himself pondering absentmindedly that it doesn't feel that strange. It's not even that different from holding a girl, actually. Of course, girls are smaller, softer, curvier, but curiously, the warmth is about the same. He reaffirms his grip around the cook's waist. Definitely. It feels the same.

No way...

Maybe it's the booze, or maybe it's the sad air on Sanji's face, earlier. Maybe it's only because he feels way too drunk and fuzzy and tired, right now. Or maybe because it reminds him of his dream – we are one. Zoro doesn't know. The position they're standing in right now feels disturbingly intimate, but also strangely comforting. He feels at ease, and tightens his embrace on the inebriated cook just so, though it's only to grasp him better, he tells himself. He doesn't know how the guy would react if he started getting outright cuddly – and Zoro doesn't get cuddly, ever. Not with anyone, and especially not with the cook. However, the guy sighs, and snuggles closer at this faint motion. He rests his head in the crook of Zoro's neck, who can feel soft strands of hair brush against his jaw. And Zoro is now staring to think that, maybe, it's not really that weird, in the end, being that close to another guy, whether it's for support, or even comfort. After all, even though he's drunk like hell, Sanji, of all people, seems to allow it. Still, he resists the sudden urge to raise a hand from the other's back and intertwine his fingers in his soft hair, not sure he's willing to go that far.

It's there, he suddenly realizes. The same feeling as that time, when he was hiding among the tangerine trees with Nami, and the cook was humming. Zoro doesn't understand it any more than he did back then. All he knows is that he hates seeing the cook like that, looking so sad, so wasted. He looks lonely. Does he really understand the feeling that well, though he'd never admit it? He doesn't know. All he knows is that he never wants to see the cook looking like that ever again, he realizes in a foreign, surprisingly affectionate surge.

Maybe...

After a while, the cook stands up groggily, supporting himself on Zoro's shoulders, that wistful, slightly bitter look still on his face. In his eyes. Even if he can't see their precious color in the dim light, seeping from over the nearest building, he sees them as clearly as in daylight, when they're so peculiarly blue he always finds himself unwillingly magnetized to them. As he peers into them, it feels strange, and yet, eerily right, standing close to the other, despite the fact what he's about to do is very much wrong.

Right now, he doesn't feel like refusing anything to the guy, not anymore. Not when he's looking at him like this. He hates seeing him so gloomy, and knows by now that weird mood wasn't caused solely by too much wine. Partly caused by him, for all kinds of reasons he'd rather not think about.

He doesn't know when his disposition changed, in that regard. Can't really pinpoint the exact moment when he made up his mind. It's crazy, and – yeah, it's reckless, unmistakeably so – but he'll have time to think about that later, when he's sober. It doesn't matter if it's weird anymore, it doesn't matter if they're both a little drunk, especially the cook. Actually, it might be a good thing that they are. It makes uncomfortable things easier to disregard.

Maybe I can do this, after all, Zoro thinks, a deep frown on his face.

Switching their positions, he overturns the cook against the wall. It will be easier like this, if the other can use it as support. If Zoro himself is in control. Sanji lets himself being moved around, though his body tenses at the sudden motion. Zoro looks into his eyes intently, setting his right hand against the wall for support, while leaving his other arm at the guy's side, so the unsteady cook won't slide to the ground. Sanji looks up at him, his eyebrows scrunched in sudden comprehension, his lips thinned by barely disguised anxiety.

Zoro clears his throat, before speaking up.

"You're really sure you want that?" He growls in a low voice, unwilling to wake up the inhabitants of the neighboring house. It would be even weirder and humiliating if they were found out, even by complete strangers.

The cook gulps nervously, and relaxes a bit, before nodding in agreement.

"Well," Zoro adds after a couple seconds, his voice maybe just a tiny bit hesitant, "this is between you and me. Nobody else."

"Do you think I'd tell, moss-for-brains?" It seems like the cook's nervousness is leaving him with each of Zoro's words. He sighs. "Of course, I won't. Somehow, I'm sure this is as embarrassing to me as it is to you."

Zoro doesn't reply right away, trying to empty his mind from thoughts of what he's about to do.

"Right."

Zoro's eyes fall on the part of Sanji's face he's been avoiding, doing his best to focus instead on the other's eyes until now – not that he needs much incentive to do so, he admits. The cook's lips are still very tense, even more so, now that Zoro has agreed to help him through with that silly idea of his.

He tries leaning forwards, but soon has to stop, tense from head to toes. No, this isn't gonna work, not like this. Even though the cooks closed his eyes a while ago, maybe in his unwillingness to acknowledge what is about to happen, it's still way too weird.

What am I doing? Why am I going through with this stupid idea? I'm such a fool.

But he proceeds nevertheless. He clenches his teeth, braces himself, and closes his eyes as well, before resuming his forward motion.

Try forgetting he's a guy. Imagine you're kissing a girl. A cute girl. Like the waitress from that bar.

Right. I can do this.

His nose grazes past the cook's, who tilts his head back just a bit, his lips suddenly brushing against Zoro's in a tentative touch, or maybe even accidentally. He can feel the other's tight, shaky breathing on his face, as well as his usually gentle, deft hands, gripping tensely, almost desperately, on his right shoulder and left arm. He also notes the cook's faintly shivering.

Yeah. Definitely weird.

Unwilling to make the awkward moment stretch, Zoro breathes in deeply, and, keeping his eyes shut tight, trying to forget where he is and who he's about to kiss, brings his lips firmly against the cook's own.

His brain doesn't really register at first. But soon, slowly but steadily, the sensations come back one by one. There's the scent of cigarettes, mixed with Sanji's tangy cologne, as well as the guy's own smell – the result is strong but not unpleasant. The warmth of his breath against his face, bringing a faint smell of wine. The nervous shivering of the other's normally steady hand on his shoulder, as it grazes against the skin of his neck, until it reaches the back of his head, resting there and soon tentatively threading in his short hair. The slight relaxing in the other's posture. The subtle pressure of his hesitant, feverishly warm lips, unexpectedly soft, on his own.

He must be more drunk than he first thought, though, because it doesn't feel that strange to him. And in the end, he doesn't even have to imagine he's kissing the waitress. It almost feels the same as kissing a girl. Aside from the fact the cook's mouth is a little larger, and his lips a little less full, they feel just as soft. He's also taller than a girl – though he feels almost frail, especially for a man so strong, as he suddenly shivers between his arms, as if his body protested against the unwanted contact. Zoro wouldn't have to lean down to press himself a little closer to these eerily pleasant sensations, if he only dared.

All in all, nothing too bad.

If the cook felt a bit stiff at first, he soon recovers from his hesitation, even taking it as far as moving his mouth a bit against his. Testing. Tasting. Pressing Zoro's upper lip between his, his chin hair scratching against the underside of the lower one. Making things feel a tad too real. It's almost as if these gentle, tentative lips were probing, to ensure the grounds are safe before venturing further, or asking for permission. A silent request. Zoro doesn't really know how to respond to that, but, despite his great reluctance, finds himself maybe just a tad more willing than he should. Without thinking, he hesitantly responds to these faint motions.

At this reaction, the cook obligingly opens his mouth. Despite the fact Zoro never intended on using much tongue here, he finds himself instinctively following Sanji's lead, much to his own surprise, tasting more of him than he first intended. When the wine and tobacco flavored kiss invades his mouth, and the cook hesitantly starts sliding his tongue against Zoro's, he unsuccessfully tries to muffle the feeling that, indeed, it doesn't really feel that weird at all. There's a faint shyness in the cook's moves, a hesitation that Zoro would never have expected, if he ever had imagined that, one day, he'd kiss the bastard – which, obviously, he never even thought about. And this restraint, from Sanji, of all people, ever the touchy-feely and personal-space-invading asshole, stirs something within him. Because, surprisingly enough, this Sanji looks vulnerable, and strangely enticing.

Saying Zoro was unprepared for this would be a dire understatement.

He should be trying to push the cook away, by now, because this is more than what he agreed to. He feebly tries to regain some control over what is happening, with whatever little restraint is left in him. But he feels himself slipping further into the kiss, not quite submitting to the cook's attention, not entirely, still resisting whatsoever. Sanji's tongue is a bit larger than a girl's as well, which feels weird and foreign, but also smooth and skilful, and strangely not repulsive at all. Actually somewhat pleasant. It should bother him, but curiously, it doesn't. It feels very right, despite being so far in the realms of wrong.

It makes him feel strangely powerless, even light. Weightless. Weak. Certainly not strong enough to become the greatest swordsman in the world. It feels... It feels a little like falling. Or like drowning, maybe. His heart is beating faster, and something's pleasantly fluttering in his gut. Maybe it's the unusual closeness. Or the beer-induced daze, though Zoro knows he didn't drink that much. Or even the fact he's been getting physical attention quite regularly in the past couple months, and was suddenly cut out from it, very recently. Maybe that's because Sanji turned out to be kind of good at this whole kissing business, even in his near drunken stupor. But Zoro can't really help enjoying himself here, which he only admits with great reluctance.

The way Sanji kisses is delicate and strangely considerate, going with the flow but respecting Zoro's unstated boundaries, subtly demanding, but not intrusive. The truth is, he's never been kissed like this. Not with such skill, nor with such subdued... passion? Zoro doesn't think that's the right word, but he can feel the cook's restraining himself, without a doubt.

He tells himself that it doesn't matter, anyway. It doesn't matter what the cook feels, no more than the fact that he's finding this quite pleasant, when he shouldn't. This is a one time thing. He agreed to help Sanji, to help him get closer to what he wants, however faint the result, however stupid the means. He's not exactly supposed to enjoy this to begin with, but he doesn't really care anymore. It's not going to last. It's only temporary.

And so, despite resisting the urge with all he has, he's indulging into the kiss all the more. Tensing his arm around the cook's waist to bring him a tad closer. Tentatively grazing against the guy's temple with his other hand, refraining from running his fingers through the silky hair, unsure of what is allowed or what isn't. Of where the limits are. Losing himself, just a little bit, while he still can. As long as he can afford to let himself go.

After a while, they finally part, both slightly panting. Zoro feels his head clearing a little from the kiss-induced dizziness, wondering what the hell just happened. He doesn't know how long they've been kissing like this, but he realizes that it lasted a lot longer than he expected. And the fact he thoroughly enjoyed it, despite his great reluctance, doesn't add to his already wavering comfort. He licks his lips nervously, and feels them still tingling from the disconcertingly pleasant sensations.

"Well?" He asks, his voice much too unsteady for his taste.

Sanji's eyes are still closed, and he breathes deeply, before letting his head fall on Zoro's shoulder. He then sighs, and Zoro can feel his warm breath against his skin.

"Well... Thanks." His lips brush against the sensitive skin of his neck, and Zoro shivers.

Well, the guy's really drunk, after all, he thinks, frowning and groaning faintly when the other starts slowly trailing light kisses up his neck. Nevertheless, this is really way too much, too weird, and he didn't agree to more than a kiss.

"Hey, cook. Stop that." He growls softly. "We have to go."

The other hums quietly into Zoro's neck and complies. But it doesn't seem like he's going to move anytime soon. Because, as the swordsman realizes, he just fell asleep on his shoulder, in his arms, in that dark, creepy alley, on some secluded island, in the middle of the Grand Line.

And weirdly, Zoro doesn't really mind. For now.

Even if he now knows he'll have to give the guy a piggy-ride back to the ship.


	12. Just a drop of water in the endless sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that's bullshit, or I'm not worthy of being a swordsman, and I'm taking up knitting tomorrow. Maybe the prissy cook and the witch will join me... Yeah, right. Bad idea.

There's a moment, while one is on watch in the crow's nest, a moment when the cold air surrounding winter islands, in its quiet stillness, keeps one's body awake, and makes the mind sharp. A moment particularly appropriate to reflect on things that happened recently, things that one might not really comprehend yet. Even though they'd rather not think at all.

Or maybe one should make that moment one when they should try not to think too hard.

Sitting in the crow's nest, a blanket tucked tight around him to keep his body warm despite the cold, with his head full of unwanted thoughts and his hands, empty, Zoro would give about anything for a bottle of sake. Or two. Or a bunch. He tries to distract himself from this craving, because he knows won't get any. He just can't satisfy this desire, however intense it might be. Because it would mean venturing into the cook's den, and thus, facing the guy, if the light seeping from the galley's porthole is any indication. Unfortunately for him – for them both, actually – it seems like the cook has had trouble sleeping lately. Whenever Zoro's on watch, that light's always on. He suspects this has to do with what happened between them when they went out for a drink, a mere week ago. He doesn't know if he'd like to confirm that, or not. Either way, he's certainly not about to find out.

Because he'd rather not go there. Not for now.

Of course, after that night, things have been a little awkward with the cook. It would have been stupid to think, even if only for a moment, that they wouldn't turn that way, after what happened. He should have known, and acted accordingly.

And yet, he did the exact opposite. He would love to blame it on the booze he had that night, but he knows for a fact that, unlike the shit-cook, he never gets drunk. Tipsy, yes, or even comfortably buzzed, every once in a while. But not drunk, not ever. Which didn't prevent him from doing something stupid, something reckless, and he now has to face the consequences. Again.

Seriously, how stupid can one get? Aren't these things supposed to get better after a while? As long as you're aware that there's a problem? Zoro thought they did, but clearly, he was mistaken. Acting without thinking beforehand – after what happened with Nami, he thought he was done with that shit.

How he wishes he could go back to a time prior to that foolish mistake.

The cook has never been his favorite member of this crew. They barely got along, until very recently. However, he'd admit without a second thought that their developing relationship, however faint, wasn't bad. He would even go as far as saying that he enjoyed the reluctant, yet comfortable companionship. And it's not even like he did much to change things to begin with – he now knows better than to give the guy less credit than he deserves. But because of his own lack of forethought, all the cook's efforts towards that truce, for a lack of a better name, went to waste. And he can't even blame him, either. The guy was so drunk, he obviously didn't know what he was doing anymore.

They haven't talked about it. The truth is that they haven't talked at all since they got back, that night.

***

They came back to the sleeping ship in the morning, the passed-out cook's head slumped over Zoro's shoulder, and his arms slack, yet uncomfortably tight around his neck. He had first thought that he'd simply lift him on his shoulder and get him back to the ship like that, instead of simply – and rather cold-heartedly – dragging him by his collar along the empty streets. But he had decided against it after the guy started to shiver almost uncontrollably. Stupid cold-sensitive cook. So, he'd managed to get the shit-cook on his back, so he could enjoy a little shared body heat. It wasn't easy. The guy was as good as dead, as far as help went, though he wasn't that heavy. He finally managed to get him there, sitting him up on a crate against the wall, circling his arms around his neck, and grabbing his legs.

He wandered through the seemingly endless streets for the remainder of the night. When the ship finally came into view, he nearly flinched at the thought that whoever was on watch might see them like that, in this somewhat compromising position – a certain promise for endless teasing. Then again, it wasn't like he had a choice, anyway. As he came nearer, readjusting the guy's weight on his back, he raised his head – as much as Sanji's sleepy arm-lock permitted – and glanced at the crow's nest. No one in sight.

As he went through the gangplank, it started raining. It was a weak, mild rain, but the tiny drops were freezing cold. This was an autumn island, and Zoro soon dismissed it as a whim of the local weather. But at that moment, he briefly wondered if that dull, gray sky, which the feeble rain poured on their heads from, was foretelling of the difficulties they would have to overcome in the future. He quickly dispelled the unexpected thought, and headed for the men's cabin. He didn't want the shit-cook to get his hair wet and catch a cold.

Once he got there, he surveyed the room. It was almost silent, especially compared to the usual nightly ruckus. Only one person's loud snoring could be heard. His eyes fell on his captain's outline. The room was otherwise empty. _Chopper must have fallen asleep at his desk again_ , he thought, remembering that it was Usopp's turn to be on watch.

He headed for the couch, and none-too-gently laid his burden there. At this somewhat brutal motion, the cook let out a muffled groan, but didn't seem to wake up. Zoro vigorously rubbed his stiff neck, and was about to drop on the floor and doze off without further ado, when the cook let out another growl, louder, this time. He glanced down at the guy, and noticed he was faintly shifting, in some half-asleep daze. He first saw him raise an unusually unsteady arm, before dropping it tiredly over his eyes. The other arm soon went to reach down, much too weak to do more than what could only be accurately described as creeping along the couch's back, until, an inch after the other, it reached its owner's belt. There, after fiddling with the buckle for a couple seconds, it finally stopped.

Dumb-ass was drunk as fuck, and he was still trying to undress himself. Stupid prissy cook. Zoro shook his head tiredly.

 _Worried about rumpling his precious suit, huh?_ He mused incredulously.

But on second thought, he reckoned that it was probably uncomfortable, sleeping in that stupid thing. He almost let the guy like this, but... Taking his decision after a mere moment, and sighing somewhat dramatically, he supported himself on the couch with one knee, beside the cook, and grabbed him under the arms, helping him sit up. As he did so, the guy let out some mumbled protest.

"Quiet, curly-brow. I'm trying to help here."

He first stripped the cook from his jacket – surely, sleeping in that thick, stiff garment would be a hassle. He then laid the cook down on the couch again, and proceeded to remove his shoes. Then, after hesitating for, maybe, a split second, he slowly unbuckled the guy's belt, and pulled, so it slipped from his trousers' loops, before dropping the thing on the floor. There.

That was when the shit-cook started shivering.

Sighing again with faint aggravation – he wanted to sleep, _dammit_ – he went to retrieve one of the blankets from the room's corner. When he went back to the couch, he threw it on the now sleeping cook. He considered leaving him like that, but once again, ended up dropping to his knees, so he could wrap it around the guy. He stopped, and silently watched as his quiet breathing made the blanket raise and drop in turn.

 _Dammit_. I'm not his friggin mother.

He poked the guy's hair, seeping from the edge of the blanket like liquid sunshine. If the cook was awake and noticed, he didn't react.

Zoro finally let himself slide to the floor, crossed his arms behind his head, and closed his eyes. Before dozing off, he sighed and told himself that, if he was feeling awkward about acting so softhearted, it was only out of tiredness and mild irritation.

***

It all started a couple days later.

They had left the island and gone on their way through the Grand Line. Zoro had gone through his usual activities – training, sleeping, and eating, every once in a while. He didn't consciously avoid the cook, though he'd wonder about the accuracy of that claim, later. At least, he didn't actively try to do so, and if he ended up not crossing path with Sanji, he merely blamed it on the fact the cook was the one avoiding him. Which wouldn't be much of a surprise, to be honest.

Himself spent these two days trying very hard not to think. And actually, he nearly succeeded – most of the time, anyway. It was a little weird. Not even a few days ago, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about the whole mess with Nami, but what happened with the cook didn't disturb him that much, all things considered. Even better, though he did manage to avoid thinking into it too much, it served as a sufficient distraction to take his mind off the Nami fiasco, when he was unable to do so by himself. He didn't even feel that disturbed at the thought that the cook knew their secret, which surprised him. He guesses that the night he spent, drinking and talking leisurely – for the most part – with Sanji brought him some kind of comfort, in the end. And it must have been enough to relieve him from his uneasiness at all that happened in the past weeks.

Aside from that stupid, drunken kiss, anyway.

Which was why he tried not to think about it much. It would be useless, anyway. What was done was done, and there was no need to dwell on it. Whatever it was. He had to admit he had trouble putting words on what had happened. But it didn't really matter, did it?

Besides, it was a firm decision on his part, not to let himself get unfazed by what had happened with the shit-cook, on that night. Almost an assertion. He didn't really know where he stood with the guy anymore, after that, and after the heart-to-heart discussion they'd had prior to the incident. Their relationship, or lack thereof, had been evolving into something else, lately. And this new bond was still important to him. He wouldn't let it go to waste because of such shallow, drunken bullshit.

In the afternoon, he went to take a nap in the galley. It had been steadily raining since they left that island, and he couldn't take a nap outside. He entered the room and plopped down in a corner, setting his swords against the wall and leaning against it. Much to his comfort – though he'd never admit it – he didn't have to stay there alone with the cook. Because of the bad weather, Usopp, Luffy and Robin were there as well. Chopper was on watch, if he recalled the shifts' order properly, and Nami was probably in the girls' room, working on her new map. Whatever. At least, the presence of several of their crew-mates would prevent the cook from talking about unsettling matters, if he ever wanted to. Zoro himself sure didn't.

Usopp was currently working on some contraption of his, nose deep in screws and nuts, a screwdriver in one hand. The other was trying to repel Luffy's insistent hands from touching whatever he was currently making. The long-nosed guy was also subject to his relentless questioning – Zoro could already recognize the signs of cabin fever in his captain. Robin was engrossed in one of these thick books she was the only one able to read from the first page to the last. She didn't seem to pay attention to the surrounding conversation, but Zoro knew better. That woman was way too perceptive for her own well-being, he reckoned. At least, she never mentioned anything about his somewhat curious behavior, the night Nami ended up not joining him for the first time.

He closed his eyes and relaxed against the wall, arms crossed on his chest, regulating his breathing in a slow rhythm and preparing to doze off rapidly. He heard Sanji's raspy baritone, somehow managing to get that he was asking Robin if she needed anything, to which she replied that she didn't, in that quiet voice of hers. The boys' light banter remained, as well as the soft clanking of kitchen-ware as Sanji started preparing some afternoon snack, and the occasional sound of a turned page. He felt himself lulled by the unintrusive, comfortable background noise.

That is, until a couple seconds later, when a loud smack resounded in the room, followed by a persistent whine.

"Luffy! Stop that! That's not a toy, and I'd advise you not to touch it, if you wanna keep all five fingers on your hand."

"Aw, you're no fun." A loud, somewhat obnoxious sigh. "I'm so bored..."

"Look, if you promise you'll behave from now on, I'll tell you a story."

"I will! I will, I will, I promise!"

The last sentence was said in an overly serious tone, which almost had Zoro snorting. _Luffy, behaving? When he's bored? Nah._

"Good." Usopp said after a while. "So. When I was about eight years old, I used to watch the sheep for my village – you know, the villagers kept feeding me even though I was an orphan, and –"

"Here comes the bullshit..." The cook mumbled.

"It's not a lie! And don't interrupt Great Captain Usopp's story! Damn..." He protested rather vehemently, before resuming his storytelling. "Anyway... Watching sheep, it was pretty boring, you know – you'd have hated it even more than I did. All I had to do was sitting there and watch them nibble on grass. That's when I took up drawing."

Zoro never opened his eyes, but found himself listening to Usopp's expressive storytelling voice. It wasn't bad, because he stopped with the whining – and so did Luffy – once he started on a story. Even if it was, as the cook had remarked, utter bullshit.

"At first, I didn't have paper or pencils, so I used chalk or charcoal to draw on that big rock that stood in the middle of that prairie. I drew sheep, clouds, birds... It wasn't that bad, once I started doodling like that. I wasn't bored anymore."

It didn't sound that far-fetched, though. Not as much a his usual stories of bravery. So, Zoro kept on listening with increasing interest.

"One day, I was busy drawing the scenery – I'd gotten better by then – when that guy walked down the path near the rock. He was tall and wearing a dark cloak, so I couldn't see his face, but I wasn't afraid, even though I was really young! Anyway, he looked at me, and stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he realized what I was doing. Then, he rushed to where I was sitting and almost pushed me out of the way, only to stare at my silly doodle insistently. I wasn't afraid, but..." Usopp trailed off, apparently lost in his memories.

"What happened then?" Luffy soon asked.

"Hmm? Well, I was about to call my eight thousand followers as reinforcement –"

And Zoro thought, _well, now that's bullshit, or I'm not worthy of being a swordsman, and I'm taking up knitting tomorrow_. He grimaced inwardly. _Maybe the prissy cook and the witch will join me... Yeah, right. Bad idea._

"– when he suddenly asked, _hey, lad, did you draw this_? I didn't understand what he wanted, but I told him I did, anyway. And then, the guy started to choke. Or at least, I thought that's what he was doing, until he pushed his cloak's hood back. He was quite old, and his hair was all gray. He didn't look that scary, once his cloak was out of the way. Just an old man. Anyway, I could see he was crying."

"What? For real? Why was he crying?"

"Apparently, that old guy was from Toscan."

"Toscan?"

"Yeah. It's an island renowned for its painters. And the guy was one of the most famous painters from that island."

"Usopp," Sanji interrupted again, "stop bullshitting the kid. It's not like his brain could take much more damage than it already has."

Zoro could hear Robin chuckle softly at that.

"But I'm telling the truth!" Usopp protested. "Anyway, stop interrupting, or suffer the consequences."

"What, you're threatening me, shitty long-nose?" A menacing tone.

"Y-yeah, I am. Beware of great Captain Usopp and his eight thousands followers' wrath! But I'll forgive you if you make some hot-chocolate."

"Yeah, hot-chocolate! Can we have meat too? Meat!"

Robin chuckled again, and Sanji sighed heavily.

"Yeah, right. Usopp, you've awakened the beast. You'll pay for this, trust me." Zoro heard him light up, and sigh again. "Go on telling your shitty story and leave me alone. Yeah, Luffy," he added, and Zoro barely opened an eye, only to see their captain was frantically pulling at the cook's sleeve. "I won't forget the meat."

"Hehehe!" Luffy released the guy's sleeve, and Zoro closed his eyes again.

"Anyway, when he heard that I was the one who drew it, he took my hand in his, and said, _my boy, you sure are talented, do you want to study painting with me?_ I didn't know what to say at first. I didn't really understand what he meant. I had talent? I could become a painter? What the hell was this all about?"

"And what did you say?"

"Obviously, Luffy, I said no. Or I wouldn't be here today."

"Oh." Luffy seemed to realize that if Usopp had accepted that offer, he wouldn't have been in Syrup village for them to meet him. "Why? You could have become famous."

"Well, I wanted to become a pirate. And... I was waiting." Usopp trailed off again.

After a couple seconds of unusual silence, Zoro opened his eyes again. Everyone in the room was waiting for Usopp to answer Luffy's question, but the guy was looking down at his latest invention, fidgeting with a stray nut. What was bothering the talkative guy, to the point he'd stop his tale before the end? And why didn't he go with that painter dude to begin with, anyway? What could have made him stay on that island where he wasn't really welcome, as far as he was concerned, and where he probably thought nobody would miss him? Well, there was still Kaya, but Usopp had said that he had been waiting. Waiting for her? Probably not, since she'd been there all along. And he said he was an orphan, so his mother was dead by then. He'd been waiting... Oh.

In a sudden surge of inspiration, and even though he didn't really believe it until now, he realized that the long-nosed sniper's story might very well be true, this time. And that he most likely had refused the old guy's offer because he wanted to be there, just in case his father came back.

It seemed like Sanji had picked up on this as well, because he suddenly dropped a fuming cup of hot chocolate in front of Usopp, as well as a platter of meat in front of their captain.

"There, shit-heads. Now shut up or bugger off."

The cook then turned towards Robin, and delicately placed a cup of what looked more like coffee than chocolate in front of her, bestowing her with compliments in that disgusting flowery language. As she thanked him quietly, Zoro was struck by the fact he had served her _after_ the boys. That couldn't be unintentional, since the ero-cook would always favor their female crew-mates over the guys on board, any day. Did he do that on purpose, in order to distract Luffy from the answer he was waiting for? So that Usopp wouldn't have to say something that would have made him feel uncomfortable, in front of an audience?

Whatever. He had better things to do than analyze what the cook might think or not. And since he was done listening to Usopp's childhood stories, he focused on his nap.

He dozed off to Sanji's quiet discussing with Robin, which might be why the cook joined him in the dream he had, that time, though he wouldn't be able to remember any of it, afterward.

When he woke up, later, he couldn't tell how long he had slept. It couldn't have been that long, though, because Robin and the cook were still there – though the boys were nowhere in sight by then. The waking process was slow, and when he finally opened his eyes, descending from his floating in oblivion state to land against the wooden wall where he had been resting earlier, it took him a moment to remember where he was.

Sanji's laughter was resounding in the room when he came to, loud and bright, having to go as far as stopping his preparations, because of the jerky motions unusually shaking his whole body. He could remember that he was also laughing, in his dream – not much else, though. He absentmindedly thought that it must have been why he dreamt of the cook : hearing the noise in his sleep, his mind had tuned the dream in accordingly.

The cook must have felt Zoro's sleepy gaze on him, because, amidst two rather intense intense bouts of laughter, he glanced in the swordsman's direction, his own eyes glistening with laugh-induced tears, but his face definitely smiling. And Sanji's smile, to Zoro, at this very moment, was worth more than a thousand blindingly blazing suns in an infinite azure sky. He felt strangely moved, and he suddenly came to think that, maybe, after all, he didn't quite hate the cook's voice, when he was laughing like that. Not as much as he thought he had, before.

***

Afterward, he felt the need to reflect on what happened that afternoon, in the galley, even though he had decided before that he wouldn't think about the cook too much. But this wasn't about the kiss they'd shared, anyway. It was about something else, entirely. This was different. Because, surely, something did happen, at that time. The emotions the cook's laughing fit had stirred in him were still present, much to his confusion.

He started with admitting, though somewhat begrudgingly, that he liked the smiles and laughter a lot better than the sulking the cook had displayed as of late. That's probably why he had been so shaken by that laughing bout. The guy hadn't been smiling much in the past months – which was partly his fault – and he missed it. Bright laughter and toothy grins. Maybe as much as he missed their playful fights. Without even realizing it.

Which didn't ease his guilt at all, to say the least.

He now knew that, more than ever, he wanted to help the cook getting over Nami. After all, that asshole had interfered with Zoro's life in such a way that he had helped him do so. And though he never asked for his help, the guy had been quite efficient about that. And quite benevolent about the booze, too. Zoro felt indebted, which he didn't like one bit, and made him decide to return the favor as soon as he could.

He simply, sincerely wanted the usual silly, foolish, cheerful cook back. Or even the sulky one, provided they could go back to the truce they had reached before that stunt in the narrow alley. But he had no idea on how to proceed with that, or if he should even do anything at all.

From then on, he started feeling on edge, whenever the cook was around, feeling the urge to do something, anything, but not daring to do so, fearing that he'd screw up. More than once, he found himself opening his mouth, and closing it before a word could get through his parted lips, berating himself for being so bad with these things.

One afternoon, as he was napping on the back deck – or rather trying to, he heard footsteps from the stairs aside the galley walls. Moments later, the cook appeared, cigarette dangling from he corner of his mouth, and a laundry basket under his arm. Realizing the swordsman was there, he stopped for a second, standing still, his eyes on the form sprawled out on deck. Then, with an almost imperceptible shrug, he started walking again. He nonchalantly put the basket on the floor, and grabbed a first piece of clothing to hang on the nearby rigging.

Zoro watched him through barely open eyes, tension building up at the thought the cook was closer to him than he'd been since that fated night. Though he didn't really want to acknowledge the other's presence, he felt quite restless at his proximity, surrounded by the usual smell of tobacco smoke that followed Sanji wherever he went. He didn't want to talk to him, but felt the now familiar urge to say something steadily rising within himself. Curiously, he also wanted to know what the guy thought, what he felt about the kiss they had shared that night. He wanted to make sure that everything was still ok, that it was just a matter of time before things went back to the usual bickering and otherwise getting on each other's nerves. To the comfortable rivalry and companionship.

After a while, though, the other seemed to realize he was watching him. He sighed and turned towards the swordsman.

"What the fuck do you want, marimo?" He said, lips tight around his cigarette.

But Zoro didn't know how to ask. So, he didn't.

"Nothing, curly-brow. Let me sleep." He growled back, his jaw tense.

The cook snorted, but went on with his laundry. After a while, Zoro was unable to bear the increasing tension in his gut, and, after stretching himself in what he willed to pass for a relaxed, casual gesture, he raised to his feet, and left the place.

He went through the galley to the main deck, grabbing booze on his way out. Opening the bottle with a deft flick of his wrist and drowning half the contents in a couple of long, greedy, relieving gulps, he leaned against the railing and watched silently.

The weather was a tad better now, and the girls were sitting at the outside table, though not in their usual tanning garb. Which was fortunate, because Zoro didn't think he wanted to endure the sight of Nami, clad in nothing more than her skimpy bikini. Not yet. She was reading the paper, absentmindedly playing with a tall glass that most likely used to hold one of Sanji's fancy drinks. On her left, Robin sat, her eyes intent on yet another thick book. He noticed she had barely touched her own drink, and idly thought that the cook would be disappointed.

Not far from them, Luffy was slumping against the railing, a hand on his hat, merrily chatting with Chopper, sitting nearby. He couldn't hear what they were discussing, but they seemed to have fun. Every once, the wind would carry his captain's bright laughter, and he could also make out Chopper's delighted squeals, more discrete.

On the front deck, Usopp was sprawled out on his stomach, apparently focusing on several sheets of paper he was insistently scribbling on. A moment later, probably feeling he was being observed, he sharply raised his eyes. When he saw Zoro was watching him from afar, he sat up and gestures him to come near.

"Oooi, Zoro!" He shouted. "Are you done with that bottle?"

The latter blinked, but felt actually relieved at this unexpected but welcome distraction. He straightened and started slowly heading for the prow, all the while gulping down the remainder of his booze. He was wiping his mouth on his wrist when he came by the sniper, who was busy sticking the paper sheets under some heavy rock. He handed him the empty bottle, since he obviously wanted it.

"Thanks." Usopp said.

Looking at the item intently, and slightly frowning when he realized there were still a few drops left, he pulled some kind of long stick, as well as an used rag from his waist pouch. He draped the latter around the stick, tugged at it to ensure it wouldn't come off, and proceeded to insert the resulting tool into the bottle.

Zoro was puzzled, but didn't say a word. He was used to the guy's eccentricities by now, and knew better than to question his actions. After a while, Usopp glanced up at his face.

"Would be bad if any moisture was left inside," he explained amiably.

Zoro's eyes moved to the imprisoned stack of paper.

"I wouldn't want them to scatter or fall into the ocean. Damn wind." The sniper added, noticing his subdued interest.

He removed the makeshift brush from the bottle, and seemed satisfied with the inside's current state of dryness.

"Can you hand me the papers?" He asked.

Zoro walked over to where said paper sheets laid, and retrieved them from under the small rock. Glancing at the scribbling, he couldn't refrain a slight frown from appearing over his features. At the top of the front page was written, in a messy cursive :

The youth of Captain Usopp,

brave warrior of the seas

He absentmindedly surveyed the first paragraph, but was quick to avert his eyes. It was mostly about Usopp's father, and how he had left his mother for a pirating life. His crew-mate had obviously written this. His whereabouts before joining the crew were no secret to Zoro. But this was personal, and maybe the other didn't want him to pry. But, although he noticed a faint tension in his shoulders, Usopp didn't say anything. He took the papers from his hand, and let out a faint sigh.

"Just in case you're wondering, I'm sending these in a bottle." He looked away, maybe a little embarrassed. "It's... Well... This life we're living is dangerous. In the end, we don't know where we'll be tomorrow, or next week, next year."

That much was clear, and Zoro wholeheartedly agreed with him. They all knew how fickle life was, and that it could be over at any moment. However, he didn't see how doing this would help things in any way. He hadn't asked for an explanation, which led him to think his crew-mate might be eager to give him one, either way. Not necessarily to him, actually. He just looked like he wanted to talk about it. Why not let him, then? He sat down, and waited patiently, until, after a while, Usopp started talking again.

"It's even more dangerous for us weak ones. Try looking at it from my perspective," he insisted when Zoro frowned a bit at that. "I don't doubt that with you all, Chopper, Nami and I are mostly safe, but nevertheless, any one of us might die suddenly. Just in case, I'd like to leave a trace of my existence in this world." He paused, a thoughtful look on his features. "Luffy already has a bounty. You and Sanji are both monstrously strong, and besides, you're already well-known as a former bounty hunter. Sanji has his cooking, Nami has her maps, and Chopper has his medical knowledge. And Robin, she's been wanted since she was eight years old. How cool is that?" He paused. "Which leave us with me... What do I have?"

He stopped there, and started stuffing the papers in the bottle, a look of deep focus on his face. Zoro wondered if he was waiting for him to answer that last question. But as silence stretched between them, him waiting patiently and Usopp just sitting there, his eyes intent on some knot in the wooden railing, it occurred to him that he had no definite answer. So, he kept waiting, only distracted by light scuffle sounds down the main deck, where Chopper and Luffy apparently decided to run about in one of their usual, silly games.

"I'm a coward." Usopp finally muttered dejectedly, a slightly bitter scowl twisting his mouth. "I'm not strong. I shoot things from afar, and make things explode every once in a while. That's it. Not something that could leave a trace behind, aside from a hole in the ground, which would disappear after a while anyway."

 _But you're stronger than you think_ , Zoro wanted to say. Of course, he didn't. He waited until the other resumed his monologue.

"I wanna leave something behind." He whispered in a low voice after a while, and then, fell silent.

Time passed, the quiet around them only disturbed by Luffy and Chopper's far cries of delight. Usopp was now pushing a cork down the bottle's neck, the last touch to his latest creation, so to speak.

Zoro stayed with him as he threw the bottle to the ocean. Together, they watched it disappear in the distance, not saying a word. But there was no need to say anything, Zoro thought. Just being here with him was enough. He was sure Usopp understood.

As they finally lost the sight of Captain Usopp's bottled adventures, their author suddenly cleared his throat.

"I know it's none of my business, but..." He hesitated for a couple seconds, then gulped nervously, before finally asking : "What's going on between you and Sanji?"

Zoro froze at these words, his mind in a sudden, frantic turmoil. What exactly did the long-nosed guy know? He probably saw them coming back, on that morning, after they spent the night out, drinking. But did he know anymore than that? He doubted it. It wasn't like the cook would spill. He was probably as embarrassed about it as he was.

"I m-mean," the sniper added when he didn't reply, stuttering nervously, "you two haven't been fighting much lately."

Zoro knew what Usopp was talking about, of course. However, he couldn't help but wonder about the extent to which what had happened between the cook and him had transpired. How much his crew-mates had figured out of... of whatever it was that was happening between them. So, in order to get more information about this, he decided to feign ignorance.

"Huh?"

"W-well," the guy started, "it's just weird. You'd usually bicker with each other for the smallest things, and lately... It's stopped. At first, I thought you looked more friendly towards one another, but there's been tension since we left that island. You look like two dominant tomcats, glaring at each other and waiting for the other to make his move." He paused. "I don't know about the others," he added, nervous again, "b-but I noticed."

Zoro glared at Usopp, who was looking at his shoes, uneasiness plastered all over his features. He almost snorted, because it wasn't like he was gonna beat the guy for being curious. Even though he did his best to look like he was about to do so.

"F-f-forget I asked." The other added after a while. "M-maybe I should leave now, hahaha..."

Zoro didn't say a word, as he watched Usopp hurrying to leave the prow.

***

He woke up that night, his mouth dry, and the space beside him, on the rug, empty. He was surrounded by snores of various amplitude, and when he quickly surveyed the room, he noticed everyone was there, apparently deep asleep. It was probably late, by now. What was the shit-cook doing? Robin was on watch, so there was no reason for him to be still awake at that time of the night. Unless he wanted to be there in case she needed anything, that pervert. It wouldn't have surprised him much, but he also knew it wasn't in the cook's habits to stay up when their female crew-mates where on watch. Not that late, anyway.

Whatever. It wasn't his business, what the cook chose to do with his time.

He tried discarding the thought, and going back to sleep. But he found himself unable to do so. Thoughts were running endlessly in his mind. He couldn't help but wonder what the cook was up to, this late at night. Besides, he was really thirsty, and he finally decided that he would get something to drink. Water first, and if he really didn't feel sleepy anymore, some booze would probably help. And if the cook didn't let him have some, a fight would help him all the like.

He got up, and, after climbing up the ladder, headed for the galley.

He wasn't surprised to find the light was on, pouring through the small porthole, and he was suddenly assaulted by doubts. Maybe it wasn't a very good idea to intrude on the apparently insomniac cook right now. Then again, he was definitely _not_ avoiding the guy, and he was thirsty. It wasn't weird for him to come to the galley if he wanted something to drink. It's not like he could have seawater either, and getting what he needed from the bathroom would wake Nami up, which would spell hell for him. In the end, he didn't really have a choice.

So, he braced himself, and opened the door.

The cook was there, sitting at the dinner table, his back towards the door. Zoro couldn't see his face, but he noticed the guy had a glass of wine in his hand. There was also a bottle on the table, and an ashtray, in which a lit cigarette was emitting lazy trails of smoke. He didn't seem to notice someone was there, and Zoro decided not to be an asshole, for once.

He cleared his throat noisily, and the cook faintly jolted at the sudden sound. He slowly turned back, and stared at him for a while, an blank look on his face. He didn't seem drunk, but he looked tired. Zoro could see the dark circles under his eyes, and his skin looked paler than usual, though he couldn't tell whether it was because of the artificial light, or because of weariness.

"Marimo."

The cook acknowledged his presence with this single word, and for once, it didn't sound much like an insult, though his tone, as well as his eyes, were icy and unimpressed. Zoro certainly didn't feel welcome, but it wasn't like he'd let the other know, or worse, give up and leave.

He grunted in response, and went to grab a glass, which he then filled at the sink. He now had his back towards the cook, and could feel the latter's eyes on him as he drowned the water. He knew very well that, if that dumbass wanted to go back to what had happened a week ago, now was the best time, and he wouldn't be able to prevent it from happening. They were alone in here, and nobody would come to disturb them. Not that Zoro really wanted to talk about it, but he suddenly felt like this one had gone long enough as it was. Better get it over with, before it got worse. Before their new, fragile truce became impossible to mend.

And if they couldn't talk about it, they could still fight. Fighting with the cook was always a good thing, as far as he was concerned. It was familiar and comforting, unlike that heavy silence, which started to unnerve him, if only just a bit.

So, he took his time drinking, and when he was done, he filled the glass again.

The cook was silent for the longest time, and Zoro started to think that, maybe, he'd never say anything, and that they could never go back to what they were before. Not to the reluctant rivalry, nor to the more comfortable companionship they'd come to reach, recently. But after a while, the other spoke.

"Hey, shit-head."

Frowning, and trying to stifle the tensing in his back the best he could, he slowly turned around.

"Want something to eat?" The cook asked, almost casually, though his tone sounded a little hesitant.

He refrained from choking on his drink, which he was still seeping on. He had expected insults, or an uncomfortable conversation. He never expected the cook to offer him food, not after giving him the cold shoulder for a whole week. Not after what had happened.

He nodded silently, and, relaxing imperceptibly, went to sit at the table, while the cook got up and started picking stuff in the fridge.

Zoro wasn't one to deny a midnight snack, though he wasn't like Luffy, who would swallow anything edible that came his way. But that wasn't why he had accepted the cook's offer. To be honest, he felt a little relieved that the guy didn't seem antagonistic for now. Maybe there was still hope. And he didn't want to offend him either, when he was so amiably offering to prepare something – something just for him. He'd already done that enough in the past, and the guy didn't need it. What he needed was getting out of that depressed state, the one that had plagued him for weeks now, and had probably prevented him from falling asleep, tonight. What he needed was comfort. And, though this wasn't Zoro's business, and though he knew well enough that he couldn't provide that, maybe being nice, for once, would be better than nothing.

Minutes later, the cook placed a plate filled with what looked and smelled like cheese toasts in front of him, as well as a bottle of sake. Zoro decided that being nice was definitely worth it. He forced himself to voice his appreciation, however awkward he felt.

"Thanks." He grumbled – he didn't think he could do better, but he tried, and it was all that mattered.

And in truth, it seemed to be good enough for the cook. Sanji's eye widened a bit, but when his surprise at Zoro's unusual gratitude receded, he grinned around his cigarette. It was a smile, albeit a small one, and his whole face seemed to light up.

Zoro definitely liked that better than the cook's sullen face, or the cold way he looked at him when he first came in here.

"You're welcome." Sanji's smile widened, and he went to start tidying the kitchen.

It wasn't much, and they didn't really talk, afterward. But the fact the cook didn't seem to resent him had Zoro feel more comfortable than he'd been in days. Tension he never noticed was there lifted from his shoulders. He watched Sanji tidy the counter and wash the little dirty dishes that were used to prepare the snack, while he munched on these delicious cheese toasts, which complimented the sake remarkably. The guy's gestures were sharp, and his natural skillfulness showed in the way his whole body moved. It was familiar. It felt domestic. It made Zoro feel good, quite content with himself and the world. It was strange how the smallest things could do that.

He mused absentmindedly that he could get used to this.

Later, when he went back to the men's quarters and settled down next to Sanji, who had gone a while ago, so exhausted he could barely stay awake, he looked at the guy's sleeping form in the dark. He knew he didn't solve the problem, not entirely. But things seemed to be getting better. The cook had looked a little more cheerful, or maybe just a tad more content than he had looked for weeks. All it had required was being there, and eating his food.

So, Zoro thought, as he slowly drifted into slumber, maybe he was bad at providing any kind of comfort. Maybe he couldn't help the cook, in the long run.

But if it helped him feel a tiny bit better, even if it was temporary, he could still try.

He would.


	13. Strange what we do to feel all right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoro blinked, and felt himself freeze as he suddenly remembered what he had done, mere hours earlier. He had – no, don't think about it.

Warm. Warm and soft like only live flesh – with skin and muscles and nerves, veins in which a heart was beating and a red, red blood was pulsing – could be. Soft, but solid around his shoulders, in his back, solid and comforting as only the embrace of loving arms, belonging to someone one trusts, could be.

And so warm.

He couldn't remember when he last felt that way. He couldn't remember if he ever had. So warm and –

_– right –_

– safe.

Subtle shifting, as the other quietly breathed, heart rapidly hammering beneath flesh and bones. Soft strands of hair he knew were blond like the sun, brushing against his nose. A faint scent – jasmine and bergamot, tobacco. Something sweet. Some kind of spice whose name he couldn't remember.

A heaving chest, a sigh.

Fingertips gently caressing his skin through his shirt, between his shoulder-blades. Slowly, the hand went up, until it reached the back of his neck. Shivers down his spine, when these fingers brushed against his naked skin. They threaded into his short hair, and brought him closer. Faint, ghostly lips along the sensitive spot, right where his shoulder became his neck.

Zoro –

_– tensed and shifted and groaned in his sleep at these pleasant sensations, heart beating hard and heat in his loins, but didn't wake up –_

– didn't want to go back to a waking world where his mind could rationalize things and push unwanted desires away. It felt good and pleasant, and he didn't want it to stop. It felt like floating. Sanji's embrace, all soft warmth and lean arms, so strong in their steadiness, was all he could feel. The rest of the world, around them, was only faintly there. It felt close.

It felt –

_– like merging –_

– so intimate.

He pressed himself closer, tightening his own arms around the familiar, lithe but solid frame, hoping he could give at least a little warmth back.

What he wanted was for them both to melt together, to further this incomplete connection. To become one with the other, and never feel lonely ever again.

And he wanted to kiss Sanji.

But he –

_– want to feel it again –_

– couldn't.

They were separated by the thickness of their stubborn skins, by the limits imposed to them by the material nature of their bodies, of their existences. The kind of boundaries they had was painfully clear to him. Their kiss from before

_– rash and surreal, so wrong, and yet, so right –_

– had been a foray into these, something that wasn't meant to happen. Something that they shouldn't have let happen.

It jeopardized –

_– do it –_

– everything.

He couldn't, because kisses like that weren't something that should happen between friends –

_– do it –_

– which they were, or something close enough. But if it means they couldn't be physically closer, Zoro didn't want to be friends. He wanted –

_– you to kiss me, so I won't have to make the first move, so I won't have to face the consequences –_

– needed to get out of here.

***

He slowly woke up in the darkness of the crow's nest, where he'd fallen asleep earlier, even though he was supposed to keep watch. His eyes opened, only to fall on the moonless, clouded night sky. There were only a few stars here and there, scattered, visible through the gaps between the clouds. But he didn't see them.

The world around him seemed kind of fuzzy. He couldn't think. The only thing on his mind was the intense emotion gripping his chest, and the tension in his nether regions. In this hazy, post dream numbness, it didn't occur to him that what he was doing was wrong, or that he would have to face the consequences, later, when he'd be fully awake. Almost absentmindedly, he reached for his hardened cock, and set about to relieve the irrepressible need that consumed him.

Zoro wasn't one to heed to this kind of need often. He prided himself in having a great control over his body's reactions – a control only slightly short of perfect, and this wasn't bragging, as far as he was concerned. Whenever he felt his hormones getting out of hand, he tried meditating the urges away. And unless they were too strong – which happened, every once in a while – he'd usually succeed in reigning them in.

The relatively rare times when meditation failed, he'd take the matter in hand – in all kinds of senses – in a straight, forthright fashion. He never lost anytime, his movements efficient and to the point, but also made sure never to let himself come too fast. It always felt awkward, at best, when he let go of his usual levelheadedness. Too close to losing control over himself. He'd made it a point to keep a composed mind-frame, unless in the midst of a mind-blowing ecstasy, and delay climax for as long as he could.

And he never, ever let his emotions get the better of him, because this was just a physical need, nothing more.

Of course, this would only work when he was by himself. Being with someone always had him come undone a lot more easily, somehow. It didn't happen often, so he didn't really mind.

But this time was different, perhaps because he was still half-asleep. He tugged himself out of his pants and undergarments, pulling his haramaki up for better access. As he started stroking himself in slow, regular motions, he felt his already hammering chest surge with an unnamed, foreign emotion. He could already feel whole body tense tense, through his hazy perceptions, and he knew this was going to be unusually short – and good. He closed his eyes, as his hand increased the pace.

Memories from his most recent dream, as well from others he'd had in the past months, flashed in his mind. Sensations of a warm embrace, prominently. Glistening laughter and blue, blue eyes. Hands and lips on his skin. The warm sensation of a tongue, trailing wet paths along his neck that would soon turn cold in the night air. Ghostly fingers grazing against the sensitive skin of his neck. He didn't try to think, nor did he try to put names or faces on these faint memories. He didn't need to, didn't want to. He simply let himself go with the flow of the sudden fire taking hold of him.

When he felt himself coming, he didn't try to make it last. In his current state of drowsiness, he didn't even think about doing so. He wouldn't really think he could have done that, anyway, when he'd reflect upon that night, later. He was too far gone, still half-asleep and unable to really mind, at that point.

He shuddered, releasing a faint groan without even thinking of muffling it, a pleasure-induced frown twisting his brow. His breath caught in his throat and, his body going tensely still, he came.

Afterward, he fought drowsiness only long enough to tuck himself back – staying like that wouldn't be a good idea, when he didn't know what time it was, when he knew someone would come to relieve him from his watch, later. But after that, he was quick to fall asleep again, reveling in a fulfilling afterglow.

_What a stupid dream._

***

He woke up a few hours later, as Chopper came to take his place on watch. Grabbing his swords from the nearby railing and refraining a yawn, he climbed down the mast, and went to the galley to get some water. He was really thirsty, for some reason.

When his thirst was quenched, he felt better, and a lot more alert. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep more, and decided he might as well go for some early meditation, or maybe some training. Or both. Both sounded good to him.

He opened the door and was about to exit the room, but almost bumped into the cook. And strangely, he felt surprised at finding himself so physically close to the guy. It wasn't so bad that he had to refrain from wincing, but he did feel his heart pace up a bit. He couldn't understand why, but it felt strangely good to see him.

It made him feel a little awkward.

If the cook looked slightly taken aback – at seeing him up and running, so early in the morning, maybe? – his visible blue eye widening a bit, he soon recovered from the surprise effect.

"Watch where you're going, shitty swordsman." He said between clenched teeth in that raspy, smooth baritone of his.

The guy was already dressed up in one of his ridiculously expensive suits that looked tailored to fit his frame perfectly. A cigarette was dangling from the corner of his lips in that affected, nonchalant way that usually irritated the hell out of Zoro. But, curiously, he didn't feel irritated, today. The cook's slicked, freshly washed hair, was sticking to his face, though he'd still managed to have it cover its left side. Zoro found himself strangely comforted by that foreign sight – Sanji's hair was usually groomed to perfection. It wasn't the first time he'd seen the cook's hair, as he'd just gotten out of his morning shower. But this was different. He didn't want to take his eyes away from what stood before him. He could feel some kind of pull there, though he didn't know what to call it, or what caused it. He felt a bit odd, a bit off. He couldn't help but wonder why the guy's mere presence made him feel so out of it.

He suddenly felt very troubled, and he couldn't understand why.

"Still asleep, moss-head?" The cook said with faint smirk that betrayed his amusement with Zoro's unusual floating demeanor, pulling him from his daze.

Zoro blinked, and felt himself freeze as he suddenly remembered what he had done, mere hours earlier. He had – _no, don't think about it._

Sanji didn't notice his trouble, or at least, didn't give any such indication. The cook prodded at his chest with one of these long, pointy finger of his. Zoro had to refrain from jolting at the sudden and unexpected contact.

"Well, anyway, move your ass. Breakfast isn't going to prepare itself."

Zoro winced inwardly, but managed to prevent himself from physically doing so. He hadn't noticed, lost in his own thoughts as he was, but he was blocking the way. He moved aside, and absentmindedly followed the cook with his gaze as he walked nonchalantly towards the fridge, and started to grab various ingredients. When he realized he was staring – which Sanji didn't seem to notice, fortunately – he shook his head and left the galley. He needed to get some fresh air.

"Make sure to come back for breakfast, shit-head."

Meditation had never sounded as good to him as it did now.

The sun was rising, tinting the sky above his head with a desaturated, bluish lilac color. A perfect morning to improve his concentration. He went to the back deck. There, he removed his shirt and fastened it to the nearby rigging – didn't want it to fly into the water below, though there was barely any wind – and set his swords against the galley's wall. After unsheathing Wadou and setting his feet solidly on the wooden floor, he took the sword in both hands, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply.

He didn't need – didn't want – to think about it.

_Concentrate._

He exhaled slowly. There really was little to no wind, that morning, but the air around him was still fresh. Anyone else would have shivered from the cold, but Zoro wouldn't. He was in control of his body's reactions.

Just because he'd had that stupid dream didn't mean a thing. And what had happened after that, while he was half-asleep and vulnerable to unwanted, uncontrolled emotions was irrelevant. Completely unrelated.

It meant nothing.

But it it really wasn't anything to worry about, why did he feel so troubled?

_Focus._

He raised his sword, the muscles in his arms falling into the familiar routine of this basic, simple move without a hitch. He breathed in, and lowered the sword slowly, as he emptied his lungs again.

Slightly shifting his stance, he flexed his arms and drew his sword to the side. He performed a lateral movement, once again keeping his breathing under control. He then went back to the previous _kata_ , and repeated the two alternatively for a couple minutes with little variations. When he was done, he resumed his initial position, and breathed in, trying to clear his clouded thoughts.

They were nakama, and they'd gotten a bit closer than before, recently. They were friends, or something close to it. Nothing more. He was certain of it.

And he was absolutely not feeling confused.

_Focus, dammit._

Changing his stance again, he started practicing more complex moves, though these were so deeply imprinted in his mind and body that he performed them almost absentmindedly.

This wasn't working. These weren't complicated enough to distract him from his current concern. Even though he tried rationalizing his reaction, something was definitely amiss about his reaction to the dream, about his feelings, this morning. Even as he tried distracting himself, in order to take his mind off these unsettling thoughts, it wasn't getting any weaker, and much less disappeared. He breathed in deeply. Even breathing was off. It almost felt like he couldn't get enough air in his lungs.

Thinking about it wasn't helping. It was a waste of time. It was just a stupid dream, after all. And he reckoned that it was nothing a little meditation wouldn't overcome, anyway.

***

 _Don't think_ , Zoro kept reminding himself, during the next couple of days. _Don't think about it._

It was a conscious decision on his part, not to let himself get unfazed by it. Almost an assertion. It was all too weird and confusing. And if Zoro generally had no problem with weird stuff – his captain's body was rubber-like, after all – he was discovering that he profoundly disliked things that confused him, especially when he couldn't understand them.

And he had to admit, Sanji was confusing the hell out of him. He'd been for some time, now, and it wasn't getting better. First, there had been the weird looks, and the unusual bouts of amiability, and even kindness, on the rare occasion, Zoro reckoned. Also, the sighs and morose attitude. Then, there had been – and to Zoro, strangely, this was the most confusing thing of all – his invitation to spend the night drinking together. Their reluctant bonding over how fickle life – and girls – could be. Sanji's begrudging, not-so-subtle comfort about the whole Nami thing. And last but not least, there was the drunken shit he pulled in that alley, though he could understand where _that_ had come from – on Sanji's part, anyway. He had to admit that the fact himself wasn't even that drunk when it happened was an equally – if not even more – troubling thought.

Not that he hated the cook, though. Not at all.

He knew that their relationship, or lack-thereof, had been evolving into something else, lately. He also knew it didn't bother him. He could even admit that he liked it, somehow. And he didn't want to let a stupidly unusual, weird feeling – which almost made him feel as if he was getting sick – and Zoro never got sick, ever – get in the way of that new, still fragile bond. Neither would he let his absurd dreams get in the way. Or whatever his reaction to that dream had been. He'd never forgive himself if he did, and he didn't think the cook would, either. Not after pouring so much energy into making things between them a little more... Zoro didn't even know how to describe it. But he didn't really feel the need to do so. Knowing it was there was enough for him. It was best not to think too much into things, he reckoned.

He didn't think the cook would like it one bit if he knew he had – _no. Don't think about it._

And yet, it seemed he had trouble abiding with his own rule. He was trying so hard to ignore his trouble that it was all he could think about.

 _Don't think_ , he told himself repeatedly. _Don't think_ , while lifting weights, when it would've only served to make him lose count, and have to start all over again. _Don't think_ , while on watch, when he couldn't sleep, and didn't even have the opportunity to steal booze, because it'd mean facing the cook first, the two of them being alone at night. Not that he really tried to avoid the guy, not in broad daylight, where someone would notice something was wrong, anyway. He really didn't want anyone to find out how weird he felt these days – especially not _him_. And, so late, in the quiet night atmosphere, he didn't know how well he'd fare. He didn't want to try his luck.

 _Don't think_ , while leaning against the ship's railing during a quiet afternoon, a mere week after he started feeling so weird. The weather had been a tad better, and he could nap outside again, which was a good thing. He didn't dare napping in the galley anymore, for some reason he didn't want to think about. He didn't know how to act around the cook anymore, or what to do with himself in general. Not until he could clear his mind from unwanted thoughts and look at the whole thing objectively. Not until this unusual feeling receded. If it did to begin with, which it showed no intention of doing, for now.

He looked up at the sky, and it was a vibrant blue, just like on a summer day, despite the not-so-warm weather. It was weird, he thought, how a lighter eye color could give off the impression that it shifted, if only slightly, with its owner's mood. Zoro remembered Usopp rambling about warm and cold colors, and also that blue was a cold one. But the person who once declared such a stupid thing surely never saw a smile like Sanji's. A smile that made their owner's eyes shine like the sky on a summer day, so bright it sometimes seemed like it could lighten a whole room. Even though he liked to compare their blue color to the summer sky's, in the end, it wasn't really the same. Sanji's eyes were a bit darker, he reckoned. But to him, they were akin to the warm sun that shone in summer, and held the same profound quality as the sky around it. Endless. Maybe that was why they fascinated him so, and why he felt like he could easily get lost in them, if he were to look for too long.

He shook his head. Napping was in order, not rambling about a stupid color. Or the cook's eyes.

Before discarding the thought, Zoro still mused that, if they could sneak into his thoughts even when the cook was nowhere in sight, he might be in trouble. Because, for some reason, he had the nagging feeling that this was nothing he could train himself out of.

***

 _It's all because of that stupid kiss_ , he thinks, a few days later, sitting in the crow's nest. He's craving a beer, knowing that he most likely won't get to drink it. Not anytime soon.

Leaning over the railing, he glances at the galley's porthole. The light is on, but he can't make out any sound, other than the usual watery laps around the ship, or the creaks and shifts in the wooden planks. He has no idea what the cook's doing. But knowing that idiot, he's probably drinking by himself. Again.

Zoro grunts dismissively. He's not worried. Not at all. He just wish he could join the shit-cook. What he wouldn't give for a bottle of sake...

_It was just a dream. It was stupid and irrelevant. It was nothing. Whatever I did afterward was nothing. It meant nothing._

That's what he tells himself, but if it's true, he can't explain why he's feeling like this, so – so awkward. So troubled. And also, somewhat empty at the thought things don't seem like they're gonna be easy between him and the cook for at least a while.

Oh, of course he knows that being friends means having an emotional connection, and he's aware that some friendly touching can sharpen, enhance such connections – innocent things, like pats in the back, or a comforting hand on the shoulder, small signs of trust between individuals. That's why Zoro puts up with Luffy's touchy-feely outbursts most of the time, though his captain is more of the hugging type. Himself doesn't needs this to feel close to his friends, but he knows some people do. And he'll accommodate the other guys if needed, because they're nakama. He generally avoids extensive contact with the girls, though, whenever he can. With girls, there's always some residual ambiguity. And Zoro has no time for innuendos or sexual tension, nor does he have energy to spend on them. His energy is for training, nothing else.

He's also aware that physical contact can sublimate emotional connections, when it's not just casual touching anymore, but outright intimacy. Which is perfectly acceptable, between lovers, though Zoro's never really wanted or needed that sort of thing for himself either – too much trouble, and he has other priorities in life.

As for why he came to comply with Nami's attentions, he doesn't even know anymore.

In the end, it all comes down to two thing, the first being that friends don't kiss. Especially when they haven't been friends for too long, when the boundaries aren't firmly established yet. Girl friends and guy friends all the same – girls because they're a temptation, and ultimately, a distraction, and guys because, simply put, Zoro likes girls, doesn't he? Actually, kissing a guy shouldn't trouble him. If anything, he should be feeling mildly disgusted. And he shouldn't feel unfazed at all. But he still does, and he can't even start to understand why.

He can't explain it, but that's the way it is : kissing Sanji was weird, but not so much.

…Ok, he's not fooling anyone, and especially not himself. It's not just that it didn't feel too weird. It felt kind of good. Trust the love-cook to live up to his reputation, for once – the guy sure knows how to kiss. Zoro just doesn't understand how or why himself would want a repeat performance, even in a dream – after all, the shit-cook is definitely a _guy_.

_Just a kiss, between guys, for fuck's sake. Just because he was drunk, and I was out of my mind. Nothing._

The other thing is that, while it's not really unusual to dream of a male friend – even if the dream is a bit weird and slightly confusing – he's pretty certain that it's not normal to –

_Don't say it. Don't even think about it._

He doesn't even want to start putting words on that. Can't. It would make it much too real.

He hasn't really talked with Sanji in nearly a week, aside from trivial exchanges – I'll-have-more-of-that-grub-and-pass-me-the-salt-curly-brow kind of small talk, nothing more. Of course, after a few days, it's earned him questioning looks from his crew-mates, who started to notice something was off, though nobody dared to question him about it. Even worse, on more than one occasion, in the past few days, he caught the cook staring at him, tension in his jaw and his eyes, icy-blue. That dumb-ass definitely knows something is wrong. He didn't try to confront him for now. But Zoro feels like he's borrowing time, only to delay the inevitable, and not knowing when the blow will be dealt.

To be perfectly honest, Zoro's had more than enough of this tiptoeing around each other bullshit. He's fed up with the emotional roller coaster – comfortable silences on one day, like when Sanji had offered him food in the middle of the night, then avoiding each other on the next. They never talked much to begin with, but even the casual, irritating insults came to a complete halt, since they left that fucking island. They haven't even fought once, ever since.

Zoro doesn't want this. He wants simple. He wants normal. He wants to help the cook, as much as he can, in any way he can, even if he doesn't know how, so they can go back to how it was, before. He wants him to stop being gloomy, to be his usual self. To be an idiot around girls, and an asshole to guys. He wants him to insult his hair or his manners, to start fights, as usual. He wants to be able to steal booze and get hell for it. He doesn't want to be careful, to have to ensure he won't hurt the cook's feelings. He wants to be able to hurt them, without their owner actually hurting – and it does make sense to him, even though he knows explaining this out loud would earn him odd looks from most people. It's a game between them, it's always been one. Not so much anymore, though. He hates that.

He really, really wants booze, right now.

He groans in frustration and runs his fingers through his short hair. He wants to stop thinking so much about irrelevant things.

_Enough of this._

If thinking doesn't help, he might as well do something. Anything. Get booze. Certainly not confront the cook about his recent attitude, though. It might ruin everything – but what's left to ruin, anyway? He really wants that unpleasant, deafening _status quo_ to end. And after all, there's little risk that he'll make things worse, even with his poor, uncooperative social skills. Nothing could be worse.

He'll start with getting booze.

He stands up in the crow's nest and surveys the surrounding waters. Nothing in sight, and the air seems quiet enough. No clouds, no wind. Just the stars in the lonely, cold night sky. He guesses it means it's safe for him to leave the crow's nest for a short while.

He climbs down the mast and stomps towards the galley, feeling annoyed and slightly vindictive. He doesn't feel unsure at all. The worst that could happen here is a fight between him and the cook, and that's normal. Normal is fine. Reaching for the doorknob, he breathes in deeply. He's not afraid of what could happen. There are lots of things Roronoa Zoro is, lots of things people told him he was – demon, ape, and many other such nice epithets – but he isn't a coward. Most definitely.

He can do this.

He opens the door and enters the galley.

Inside, Sanji's nowhere to be found, though there's a wine bottle and a glass on the table. The room smells like cigarette smoke, so he probably left a couple minutes ago, at most – or did he? The smell has probably settled deep inside the wooden walls, by now. Maybe it would smell like that in this room even if it was unused for months. The cook's presence always had such a way of imprinting itself in places – and people, almost eerily – even when he's missing. Nevertheless, Sanji's absence is unusual. Slightly unsettling, even. He doesn't really know why.

He closes the door and hovers there, wondering where that idiotic cook is. But it doesn't matter. Not really. Because he's now free to get booze without hindrance. He walks up to the bottle rack, and grabs the first one that catches his eyes. He slips it into his haramaki, before raising a hand to get another one.

"What are you doing, marimo?" Sanji's voice.

Zoro freezes. He's pretty sure the cook wasn't here when he got in the room, but he didn't hear him come back. He turns around slowly, not feeling guilty at all for stealing these bottles. He does that all the time. He slowly surveys the room, frowning, and there it is : a slow trail of smoke, coming from behind the table. The cook suddenly appears, sitting up and brushing his slightly disheveled hair into place with deft fingers. Apparently, he was laying on the bench all along.

_That asshole._

"Just getting some booze." Zoro replies noncommittally.

Sanji nonchalantly drags on his cigarette, and exhales smoke through his nose.

"I don't think so." He says. The tone is casual, though a bit cold.

Zoro glances down at the bottle in his hand, and the other, sticking out of his haramaki. That's obviously what he's doing.

"Huh?"

"You heard me." Sanji says after a while. "I'm not letting you," he adds, his visible eye like an ice-blue dagger, and his tone, final.

Zoro doesn't reply, frowns and grunts instead. He almost forgot how annoying the guy is, for a short moment. He snorts, and glances at the other, now standing in the middle of the room, cigarette dangling from his lips. Sanji's staring, and Zoro notices his posture looks tense. And he looks a bit pissed. He frowns. Looks like something is not quite right. But he doesn't know what it means. He's bad at deciphering body language, most of the time. Especially Sanji's. His face is like an open book most of the time, but when he's like that, cold and mostly silent, the book closes, unreadable. And just like that, the cook will always a partial enigma, to him. They're just too different.

It seems like the shit-cook's in the mood for a fight, though, and that falls into the normal category. Why he doesn't feel relieved at that thought, Zoro has no idea. Even worse, he finds he doesn't really want to fight with Sanji. Not in his current state of confusion. But he doesn't know what else he can do. So, he resorts to using the only type of communication he's comfortable with, in such circumstances. In such company.

He smirks.

"Just try, curly-brow." He says, his tone challenging, and waits for the first blow to be dealt.

He doesn't have to wait for very long.

He sees the dark sole of the cook's shoe rushing to his face, and barely has the time to dodge to his right, but he manages to do it, anyway. It was a really close call. Sanji's quick, he's always been. Which is exactly what makes him a worthy opponent, and what makes him see their fighting as some kind of training, in itself. But he doesn't have much time to think about this. The guy doesn't let him catch his breath, and soon follows up with another attack, his lighter body leaving the ground in what Zoro can't describe any other way than graceful, using the momentum to launch his other leg at him. There's not much room to fight in the galley, but Zoro still succeeds at evading that blow by rolling on the floor, again to his right. He then reaches for his swords, before remembering that he carelessly left them in the crow's nest.

_Shit._

That one moment of distraction costs him, and the next kick catches him in the chest, sending him tumbling along the wall. He hits the back of his head against the wooden planks, and a momentary dizziness makes him lose grip on the bottle in his hand. It falls to the floor with a loud thud. He shakes his head, but notices that the booze is, in his haramaki as well as on the floor, miraculously intact, despite the impact.

"Watch what you're doing, asshole." He grunts between clenched teeth.

But Sanji doesn't seem to care. He marches on Zoro, who now has enough time to notice how tense the other's face is. He looks angry. It confirms that his isn't one of their ordinary fights. The cook's obviously mad at him, though he has no idea why.

_Oh, come on. You know very well why._

He knows that this is mostly his fault. Because he slept with Nami, because the cook didn't, because he kissed him while he was drunk and defenseless and never even thought of apologizing. Because he's been avoiding him lately – the cook _can't_ know about what's been on his mind for days, and he's not sure how to hide it from that perceptive asshole. Pretending he doesn't feel guilty one bit about that would be a lie, and he knows it. Still, there's no way he's going to let himself get beaten that easily. And since he doesn't have his swords, he's gonna have to improvise a bit.

Bracing himself on his hands, he waits for Sanji to come closer, and with a swift motion of his leg – though nowhere as swift as the guy's kicks – he trips him. As the shit-cook stumbles and falls on his ass, Zoro quickly but delicately sending the remaining bottle to join its mate, which has rolled until it hit the nearby wall – no need to waste good sake. Then, without wasting a second, he latches on the cook and tries to pin him on the floor.

But his move was expected. With a formidable twist of his powerful, flexible hips, Sanji launches his lower body in the air.

"Shitty swordsman!" He all but spits through clenched teeth.

He sends a lateral kick that violently collides with Zoro's face, altering the swordsman's senses so efficiently that, for a moment, he doesn't even know where up and down are anymore. Dazed, he can feel himself fall backwards. His whole world feels like it's spinning, so he closes his eyes, and grunts when his head painfully hits the floor. He's so dizzy that he almost doesn't feel his arms being pined down by something hard.

When he opens his eyes, the room still moves a bit around him, but it's not as bad anymore. The cook is loosely straddling his chest, a knee on each of his arms, sharp bones digging almost painfully in Zoro's muscles, preventing him from moving. Not like he could, anyway. If the first blow didn't hurt him too badly, this one was a close call.

He can see the guy's blue eye peering at him through his long bangs from above, as he braces himself on his hands, one on each side of Zoro's head. He's barely disheveled, and he doesn't seem very impressed.

"Thought you were better than that, shitty ingrate." The cook sneers around his now cigarette, now spent.

Zoro blinks. For once, he doesn't know how to reply to the cook's taunt. He still feels a little dazed, and how come he lost that fast? He, too, thought he was better than that, swords or not. Maybe his earlier lack of motivation about this fight is to blame. And he's an ungrateful bastard, obviously, for avoiding the cook after he took the pain to lift his spirits. He closes his eyes again.

Either way, he lost – for once – and it's only fair. He's not a sore loser, not one bit, but he really doesn't want to fight anymore. He just wants the cook to stop being mad at him. He wants the other to be normal again. And he wants to stop feeling so troubled, as he feels the other's body heat reach him through their clothes, flimsy barriers, unable to mask his own uneasiness. He wants that booze.

He feels so out of it.

"You ok?" A faint snort, but the mockery sounds strangely uncertain.

He opens his eyes. Despite the cocky – forced? – expression on his features, Sanji's frowning. Out of concern? Zoro gulps, as something jolts in his chest. He doesn't want to hope too much.

"Yeah." His tone sounds stern enough to his own ears, but he's far from feeling quite so sure about it.

They both fall silent. Sanji peers at him in a peculiar way, as if waiting for him to say something else. But Zoro doesn't know what kind of reaction he should give him. He can't think at all. His head pulsates uncomfortably around the place where it hit the floor. He can already feel he's gonna have one hell of a headache very soon. He thinks it's probably not a good idea to drink in this state, and curses inwardly. He really wanted that booze.

After a while, he feels Sanji slightly relax his hold on his arms, remove his knees and sit back a bit. He tries to raises his head a little, but Sanji pushes him back on the floor with a steady and merciless hand, eerily gentle, but firm on his forehead. Zoro doesn't resist and lays back. Sanji's cold fingers feel good on his warm skin, and the pressure is comfortable despite the light pain in his throbbing head, for some reason. It shouldn't, and it troubles and confuses him even more. He should stop letting himself get unfazed by such irrelevant things.

"Don't move, dumb-ass. Your eyes are slightly unfocused. You might have a concussion." The cook's hand slides delicately over his eyes, obscuring his vision, before he goes on, his voice softer. "Damn, I..."

He hesitates, and never finishes his sentence. But for once, Zoro can guess without difficulty. _I didn't mean to hurt you_ , probably. Or maybe _I'm sorry_. Whatever. Why fight so viciously, then? It's not like Zoro thinks he didn't deserve it, though. Sanji was mad at him, and it was his fault.

Actually, Zoro doesn't feel ok, though it's got nothing to do with his blossoming headache. His thoughts are a mess. He feels like this was a bad idea, from the start. Getting something to drink? Confronting the cook, _maybe_? Talking to him, helping him? It's a disaster, and there was no fucking way it would end otherwise. The shit-cook seems to feel concerned about his well-being, though. Does this mean they're still friends? Is there's still a chance to cut the damage, after all?

"Maybe I should get Chopper." Sanji adds after a while.

Zoro feels like an idiot for worrying him. He licks his dry lips and tries to reassure the worrywart cook a bit.

"… 'm ok."

He waits for him to say something, but the cook remains silent after that. The atmosphere around them is tense, and Zoro doesn't really know what to make of it. It feels weird, and possibly a little surreal. Possibly because he can't see anything, the other's fingers still blocking the light from his eyes.

He can feel Sanji's weight shift a bit against him. It doesn't feel bad, but it makes him feel uneasy. It's too close. Too close, after that dream – these dreams, he corrects himself in a heart wrenching realization. Since when has it become a habit for him to dream of the cook, of such impossible situations? How come he never realized, never connected the dots? He decided not to think about unsettling things, long ago, deeming it a waste of time. But is it even still possible by now? And then, how could he help anyone when he can't even help himself? He thinks he should really stop making unreasonable decisions.

This thought has a sobering effect on him. Headache or not, booze or not, he need to get away from here. Away from this cook, from these blue eyes he knows are piercing through his skull like inquisitive drills. He just needs to leave, and be alone for a while.

He reaches for the cook's arm.

"No need to get Chopper." He grabs the other's wrist to move his hand away from his face and raises his head a bit, meeting no resistance this time. "I'll just..."

But Zoro never finishes his sentence. He feels himself freeze. Because, as soon as he can see again, he realizes how close Sanji's face is. He can see every hair on the other's chin, tell apart every single of his eyelashes.

Much too close.

_When –_

They stay like this for a moment, and Zoro wonders if they forgot how to breathe. He feels stunned. So stunned he doesn't even think of removing his hand from around Sanji's wrist. He can feel the guy's warmth, seeping through his shirt's cuffs. Soft material under his fingertips. A little skin, uncovered, against his thumb. Warm.

He tries to think, but his brain seems gone.

Something isn't quite right here. Nothing is right at all.

The cook himself seems frozen as well, perfectly still. He's peering at him through that blond curtain of hair, through long eyelashes, and he blinks rapidly, a couple times, as if slightly surprised. Deep, blue eyes. Once again, Zoro wants to brush his long bang out of the way and dive there, get lost in them. But he won't, not when he knows he won't be able to repress the faint shaking in his fingers, too eager to keep them steady. But he wishes he could. He wishes he'd dare brushing these blond strands aside, and thread his tentative fingers into Sanji's soft hair.

He wants –

_Don't think._

"I..."

The cook trails off, looking unable to turn his current thoughts into words. He licks his lips and swallows nervously. He looks slightly frightened.

Zoro feels himself twitch _down there_. And for a split second, everything feels perfectly still.

This can't be happening.

Without prior notice, Sanji moves back quite abruptly. He all but jumps on his feet, reestablishing a much needed distance between them. Zoro doesn't feel dazed anymore. He feels quite sober, all of a sudden, to be perfectly honest. Quite sober, and quite mortified. His head falling back to the floor, he stares at the ceiling and breathes in deeply.

_Oh shit. This hasn't happened. This can't be happening._

He slowly stands up, and glances at Sanji. His hands are in his pocket, and he's slouching almost imperceptibly. Zoro opens his mouth.

"What –" He starts.

"It's –" Sanji says at the same time.

An awkward silence falls between them, after that. Until Sanji breathes in deeply and talks again.

"What's wrong with you, Marimo? I..." The cook's voice is unsteady. He reaches inside his jacket for a cigarette. "That... that was –"

"That was nothing!" Zoro almost shouts without thinking.

Sanji jumps a bit at the unexpected outburst. Zoro watches as he fumbles with his lighter, almost lets it fall, before finally managing to light up. He drags on his cigarette deeply, before exhaling the smoke.

"Why'd you jump like that, then?" He asks warily.

_Don't tell me he felt that._

_He didn't. He –_

_He was straddling me. He most definitely felt it._

_Oh shit._

He's starting to feel quite angry. At the other, but even more at himself. How could he let this happen?

"You're the one who jumped, ero-cook!"

A poor attempt at diversion, really. But there's nothing else he can think about.

"I didn't jump, shit-head!"

"You did!"

Another silence. Awkward. Zoro doesn't dare looking at the cook, and he's pretty sure it's mutual.

"Yeah. Right." The cook surprisingly admits. "I did."

Zoro doesn't know what to say anymore. He didn't expect the guy to give up so easily, and he feels befuddled. And mortified. He glances at Sanji, who, as he expected, isn't looking at him either. He opens his mouth, and feels like an idiot.

"I, huh... I should go." He pauses. "I'm on watch."

Again, a poor excuse. But he really need to get out of here. Right fucking _now_.

Sanji turns away from him, shoulders still imperceptibly drooping. His back is a bit stiff, too.

"Good idea."

Nothing more. Not exactly relieved, Zoro leaves the room, trying to keep his step steady, casual. Unaffected. But before he does, he hears Sanji mutter, so softly he'll wonder if he really talked at all, afterward.

"Don't fuck with me, marimo."


	14. Cut me down for the things you want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The words are stuck in the back of his throat, caught in the space between drive and speech.

That night, after his row with the cook in the galley, the remaining of Zoro's watch feels somewhat surreal. Afterward, he won't even be able remember how he managed to get back to the crow's nest.

He feels distracted by so many thoughts, twirling in his head over and over, eclipsing everything else. As he sits down against the wooden railing, he feels overwhelmed by feelings of shame, and also anger at himself for his inability to control his own reactions. But his utter mortification is counterbalanced by the eerie feeling that all of this is completely fucked up, that it shouldn't – couldn't – be possible. Him, getting a boner – or anything even remotely close to one – over Sanji? Really? It shouldn't be possible, definitely. It shouldn't have happened at all.

Somehow, his mind can't get around the fact it did. No matter how hard he tries, he can't help but stare absentmindedly at the surrounding night, still very much unable to think. Whenever he tries going over what happened, his mind goes irrepressibly blank.

He doesn't even know if thinking about it would be a good idea, anyway. Part of him – a part that feels far, far away, muffled by his current bedazzlement – faintly wishes he could forget, as if it never happened. But despite his self-admitted reluctance to think about it, he has the nagging feeling that what happened has some significance, somehow. That, maybe, it might prove important, later, when he can get his unwilling mind to proceed the information and analyze it.

For now, it's just too big, too foreign for him to apprehend, or even acknowledge entirely.

He spends most of the night in that numb daze. At some point, he dozes off, only to be woken up minutes later, when Chopper comes to take his place. He leaves the crow's nest, and, feeling slightly thirsty, heads towards the galley to grab a glass of water. The light is off, and once inside, he can confirm that the cook is nowhere to be seen. Unwilling to admit he feels relieved at the thought he won't have to face the guy yet, he quenches his thirst. Then, after dropping the used glass in the sink, he starts heading tiredly towards the boys' cabin.

Only to stop dead in his tracks, assaulted by a very uncomfortable thought.

Obviously, since he's not in the galley, the cook will be there. And somehow, Zoro doesn't really feel like sleeping on their usually shared rug, right now. Not so soon after what happened. Not until he can think about it, and get his act together.

So, instead of going to bed, Zoro heads for the stern, settles on the floor, and starts doing push-ups. When morning rolls in, he's still there, lifting weights. He doesn't hear Sanji's breakfast call, oblivious to his own hunger.

***

Avoiding someone on such a small ship is difficult, and ultimately useless. One will always end up stumbling upon the person they're running away from. Zoro knows it for a fact. Which is precisely why he never really tried to avoid any of his crew members. Not even Nami, after her as-of-yet unexplained desertion. She probably knows as well as he does, he thinks, because she didn't try to avoid him either. The best – or worst? – she did back then was to avoid exchanging glances with him, and make sure they wouldn't find themselves alone in a room. He barely noticed at first, since he was busy doing the same thing. And when he did, he was somewhat grateful, though slightly pissed off, because she was acting as if nothing ever happened between them.

Why he can't feel that way when he realizes Sanji won't cross eyes with him, later that day, Zoro has no idea.

It's not even like he's actively seeking to be around the cook. Not that he's scared of facing the guy, no. Zoro's not a coward. Actually, it's the opposite. He doesn't think Sanji will want him around much anytime soon. And he doesn't exactly blame him, because he knows that he'd probably feel uncomfortable too, even if only just a bit, would any of his male crew-mates display signs of arousal while they're in such a compromising position. It would be just too weird for him to handle. Moreover, Sanji's reaction isn't surprising at all, considering the cook definitely likes girls. Exclusively. It'd be no surprise if the guy freaked out. No, Zoro really can't blame him, even if his elusive behavior pisses him off a little.

What really aggravates him is the fact that, because he can't even control his bodily reactions properly, such a little, irrelevant thing might have ruined their still fragile friendship. Which he came to like, somehow, along the way. He certainly liked the late night snacks and overall friendlier atmosphere between them. And he didn't mind the not-so-comfortable silences, or the awkward, implied support it entailed. Besides, he wanted to return the favor, and it's not likely going happen anymore, seeing like they're now avoiding each other. He feels responsible for screwing that up, for driving the cook away from him.

Zoro's definitely not a coward. Even if he feels tremendously embarrassed because of what happened, he also profoundly dislikes this tension between them, and doesn't want things to stay that way. He knows he should confront the cook, and find a way to tell him that what happened was nothing. That it shouldn't matter, and that they can resume their hesitant bonding where they left it at, if he still wants to.

Still, he doesn't feel like embarrassing himself further by screwing up again, which he knows will happen, because words and explanations simply aren't his thing. He feels more comfortable when it comes to fighting and handling swords. Words make things way too complicated, and he hates that.

So, despite the nagging feeling that he's running from his responsibilities, he decides to ignore the matter altogether. And he'd be successful at that, if only the shit-cook stopped staring in his general direction whenever he thinks Zoro won't notice. Which he does, of course. Every single fucking time. Being the talented swordsman he is, so used to dangerous situations, there's no way he'd miss someone looking intently at his back like that. Not even when he doesn't expect it.

It starts with a pressure at the base of his neck, and if by then, he hasn't looked around for the source of this sensation, shivers will soon be running down his spine. It rarely gets to this point, because he's generally looking before the shudders even have the chance to surface. So, he looks, and soon enough, his eyes fall on the cook, his head already turned in the opposite direction, focusing on something else. Twirling around the girls like an idiot, or looking intently at the sea, most of the time. As if he'd never been looking to begin with. As if he didn't know better.

After a while, though, he gives up on trying to catch the cook red-handed. He doesn't know what will happen if he does. He's not a coward, but strangely, he doesn't think he could stand it if the cook started looking at him with disgust. Or worse, pity.

If only the cook would stop doing that, Zoro thinks he could settle down the frantic beating in his chest, as well as the rising tension in his shoulders, every time he feels the tell-tale tingling pressure in his neck. And then, maybe he could discard his general confusion, like he usually does with things that bother him, or that he can't entirely understand.

But the cook doesn't stop, and Zoro is unable to relax, or to distract himself from the disconcerting thoughts that started occurring to him after that night. So, he busies himself with training, though it doesn't help his relentless mind.

The only thing that's clear for now is that he has trouble comprehending his reaction, back in the galley. It just doesn't make any sense to him. It's not like it's the first time Sanji's ever straddled him like that : they've been in similar positions multiple times in the past, generally while they were fighting about irrelevant things. Such an embarrassing thing never, ever happened. Moreover, he's never been attracted to a guy before, and certainly not the cook, whom he's now known for a few months. Why would it start happening now? It wouldn't make sense.

Thus, there's only one way to explain what happened, according to Zoro : it must be a mere physical reaction to external stimulus. Nothing to do with the cook, only with his stupid hormones deciding to act up at the worst possible moment. It wouldn't be too surprising, anyway. He hasn't felt particularly sex-deprived, lately, even though he hasn't gotten any in a while. But he got used to getting laid regularly in the past weeks, and he might be missing it, even if he doesn't notice. His earlier bout of self-indulgence, while on watch in the crow's nest, only serves to prove it further. It would be a logical consequence of his thing with Nami : instinct got the upper hand over his rational mind. That's what happened in the galley, that night, he reckons.

Which means he'll need to work on having better control over his body, since that reaction was clearly unwanted – and misplaced.

He adamantly refuses to think about the dreams he's been having lately, or the pull he feels whenever he thinks of the cook's blue eyes. These are complicated things he can't apprehend for now. Or ever.

He firmly believes that things will turn out right if he keeps it all simple.

***

It's when night falls that things become truly difficult.

At first, Zoro decides he'll sleep outside. The weather isn't too bad, a bit on the cold side, but not so much that he'd rather sleep indoors. He's quite tired : he was on watch for most of the previous night, and never got to catch up on sleep in the morning. Barely ate, too. He really doesn't feel like dealing with a fussy cook who might very well think Zoro's after his ass. Which is ridiculous, really, because the cook is the perverted one, not him.

Whatever. Zoro doesn't mind sleeping outside, anyway.

However, when he realizes the cook hasn't gone to bed yet, if the light in the galley is any indication, he changes his mind. He'd rather not be there if the cook decides to go out for a smoke. It would be the perfect occasion to explain, alone with him in the quiet night, but Zoro's not ready to do that yet. So, he goes to the boys' quarters and settles for the night.

Sleep finds him lying there, eyes riveted to the night sky through the hatch, which he purposefully left open, absolutely not waiting tensely for Sanji to come down.

***

Later, he opens his eyes, irritated to find he's slept all day. He can see the sky through the hatch, gloriously red in the receding daylight, as the sun sets over the ship. He's very hungry, too, which isn't very surprising, because it's been almost a day since he last had something to eat. He gets up, and feels slightly light-headed.

Food sounds really good right now. Especially Sanji's delicious food.

He climbs up the ladder and steps on the deck. The ship is eerily silent, but it doesn't really surprises him. The crew is probably having dinner, busy defending their plates against Luffy's greedy hands. And the door to the galley's closed, so it would make sense that he can't hear their loud banter, right?

He approaches the door to the galley, but as he raises a hand to the knob, he's suddenly filled with apprehension. He knows Sanji will be there, all elusive stares and ice blue eyes, and he doesn't know if he'll be able to put up his usual stern front, still drowsy from his much too long night, and half-famished. But in the end, his hunger is too strong and wins the battle against his nerves. He tells himself it's worth the pain in the ass and opens the door, before stepping into the room.

Because of the weakening daylight, and despite what he expected, the galley's very dark inside. The crew's obviously not there, and he wonders where the hell they went. Especially since Luffy, not-so-surprisingly, is quite finicky when it comes to the meals schedule – unless they come sooner than expected, that is. He's about to exit and look for the others, when a sudden speck of light at the other side of the room catches his attention. He narrows his eyes and finally makes out a faint shadow against the wall.

The cook is there, sitting in a corner, a cigarette whose tip is flaring against the dark stuck in his mouth, and his visible eye intent on Zoro. Curiously, it's not filled with disgust or pity, not with distrust or even hate. The cook is simply staring at him with a foreign, slightly disturbing intensity. Zoro feels his throat tightening under an unexpected surge of emotions, which he can't really make sense of. But unmistakably, he recognizes the pull he usually feels whenever he meets the cook's eyes. The guy slowly stands up, and before he knows it, Zoro motions himself closer.

They face each other, eyes locked, barely a few feet apart, for what feels like a long time. Sanji's cigarette slowly burns, emitting lazy smoke that surrounds them both in somewhat hypnotic white swirls. Zoro is compelled to touch him, and he doesn't know how or why, but he almost feels like the cook wouldn't be irremediably averse to it. It feels strangely intimate, standing there in the dark, so close to each other. He could move his hand, only a few inches further, and brush it against Sanji's, hanging relaxed at his side. He could lean forwards and breathe the other man's smell, tobacco and ginger and cologne.

The cook is so close it makes him feel dizzy.

He doesn't think it's a good idea, though. His touch is rough and blunt, much like himself. Scratchy on the edges, if anything. It's not suited to delicate and fleeting things. Sanji's far from delicate, but touching him would mean toying with their fragile bond. Zoro doesn't want to scare him away for good. He doesn't want that bond to break.

And yet, he finds himself raising a hesitant yet eager hand.

_Stop me._

He places his hand on Sanji's shoulder, careful to keep the pressure light while he still can, and feels the warmth through the other man's clothes.

_Tell me you don't want it._

His other hand goes to the cook's side, gently bringing his thinner frame closer.

_Push me away._

Zoro knows that, if he dives in, he won't be able to stop anymore.

_Don't let me hurt you._

Sanji doesn't react, his body strangely pliant and willing. But when Zoro looks into his eyes, he can't see his own reflexion in them. It's almost as if the cook was bored, thinking about something else altogether. Or worse, not really there.

_Come back. Don't treat this so lightly. Come back and stop me before it's too late._

***

He startles awake, an arm stretched stretched before him, his hand trying uselessly to grasp at something that isn't there, and the cook's name on his lips. Realizing he's on the ship, and not wherever his latest dream took him, he blinks briskly, before slowly lying back down, letting his arm fall over his eyes. Letting out a faint sigh, he glances to his left, only to find the spot beside him empty. His eyes dart towards the hatch, still open against the dark sky. His internal – and usually pretty accurate – clock has him believe it's quite late, though obviously, it's not morning yet. He suspects the cook has given up on sleep for the time being, because, even if he decided to sleep now, he wouldn't get much sleep. That idiot's almost always up with the sun.

He closes his eyes, and grunts. He really hopes the shit-cook isn't being ridiculous, because it's not like Zoro's going jump him in his sleep, when all their crew-mates are there. Or even if they were alone, actually. The situation's fucked up enough as it is. And he really hopes the dreams will stop, because he doesn't think he'll be able to sort his thoughts out if they keep confusing the hell out of him.

He sighs and rubs a tired hand over his eyes. He just woke up, but feels so weary, for some reason.

He glances again at the empty space on the rug through his fingers, and has to fight a sudden feeling of abandonment.

He ends up drifting off to sleep again in the faint light of dawn. When he wakes up, the sun is high in the morning sky, and he feels like his mind is a mess. When he comes to the galley to grab a late breakfast, the dark circles under Sanji's eyes are too much for him to handle.

He leaves, his stomach empty.

***

Five days later, it's clear to him that something's very wrong.

It's not even the fact that the whole crew has started noticing something was going on. He can feel their heavy gazes full of questioning on him, more often than not, and purposefully ignores them.

It's not the fact the shit-cook's obviously not slept much since Zoro screwed up big time, that night, in the galley, or even the fact they're now avoiding each other more drastically than they've ever done.

Zoro knows most people find him outright scary, though he honestly doesn't understand why. He's not that big of a guy, and even though he's been told that he frowns too much before, he doesn't think he looks that threatening. But he's got no problem with that. Even better, he's used this knowledge to avoid annoying questions or boring fights whenever he needed to, in the past, and every time, he felt surprised that it worked. Nevertheless, he's quite used to being on the receiving end of frightened or intimidated glances. Even from his own crew-mates – namely, Usopp and Chopper – every once in a while.

However, he never imagined the shit-cook would be scared of him, one day.

Sanji hasn't slept in the boys' cabin in days. And since Zoro's proximity seems to make the guy so uncomfortable, he decided to make himself scarce. Just to ease his anxiety. Certainly not his own. Definitely not.

He's been avoiding the galley whenever the Sanji's in there. The guy doesn't seem to sleep much lately, spending all his time cooking. He also seems to spend the night there, though what he does at that time, the swordsman has no idea. And thus, Zoro's obviously not been eating very well these past few days. But hunger is nothing. The physical discomfort it brings even helps relieve a bit of his confusion. It's something else to think about. And if the shit-cook can go without sleep, he can certainly go without food. He's done it before. He went without foot for several weeks in a row, until Luffy found him, tied to that wooden pole. He can do it again.

And after a couple days, he can't even feel the hunger anymore. Most of the time, anyway.

He knows this isn't good. There's been tension between them before, but never to that extent. He knows he shouldn't let the situation fester like this, especially when he'd like nothing more than to clear things between him and the cook. He thinks he should try and stop avoiding the guy, take him aside and talk to him. Level with him, tell him he should ignore what happened, that night. And follow his own advice, while he's at it. But, even though Zoro's no coward, he doesn't know how to approach him. He doesn't know how to face the cook, after what happened the last time they were alone. He knows he wouldn't be able to look at him, right in the eyes, and tell him nothing's wrong.

When he starts feeling light-headed, he steals a couple tangerines from Nami's trees. He makes sure to pick green ones that have accidentally fallen on the orchard's grassy floor only, since missing ripe fruits would definitely attract unwanted attention from her. Zoro doesn't feel like facing her wrath and subsequent threats of debt. Not so soon. The green tangerines are juicy, and probably nutritious, but their flavor is tangy and bitter. Zoro feels his eyes water ever-so-slightly as he bites on piece after piece, telling himself he needs the vitamins, since he won't be eating anything else for what seems to be at least a while.

But what bothers him the most is that he's starting to acknowledge a fact that has been nagging at the back of his mind for a while. He's starting to acknowledge the fact that the pull he feels whenever he thinks of Sanji's blue eyes has been there for a long time. Right from the start, actually. He's always been fascinated by Sanji's eyes. Just like the first dreams happened a while ago, and it scares him. Because it could mean his reaction wasn't caused simply by misbehaving hormones. He's not ready to acknowledge that much yet. He might never be.

It makes him feel helpless, a feeling that used to be foreign to him. Until now.

He has to admit he's a little bored, without his reluctant interaction with the cook or eventful meals to distract himself. Thus, he spends most of his days training time away. Training's the only thing that still makes sense to him, clockwork steady. When he's not training, he's sleeping, in a feeble attempt to make up for the lack of food, hoping to wake up to a normal world. A world where everything is simple and crystal clear like the water around a summer island, like the summer sky in the morning, large, light and blue, and devoid of clouds. A world he can still make sense out of.

Nevertheless, after a few days of that situation, Zoro's more than glad when they finally reach an island. It's uninhabited, and won't provide much distraction, but he intends to spend as much time on ground as he'll be able to. Away from the shit-cook's tired eyes, elusive glances, and overall jumpy behavior whenever Zoro's around. According to Nami, the log pose will take at least twenty-four hours to set, which means he'll be able to spend the night on dry land. A much needed reprieve.

He also expects to find something to eat, on that island. Even if he has to cook it himself, which will never replace Sanji's delicious food.

He never thought he'd miss Sanji's cooking, one day.

He doesn't know how to fix things between them anymore. Maybe he shouldn't. He doesn't even know if he wants to, or if there's anything salvageable to begin with.

As he helps Usopp lay down the ship's anchor in one of that new island's cove, he hopes the cook will try relaxing a bit while he's away, but he wouldn't count on it. Seeing how jumpy the guy was in the past days, despite his obvious exhaustion, he suspects this is a lost cause.

It doesn't prevent him from hoping.

The gang plank's been extended to the shore, and he's about to get off the ship, when panicked cries start reverberating loudly behind him.

"Oh my..."

"Luffy, no!"

"Hey, that's dangerous – LET GO OF ME!"

"Shitty captain! What – HEY!"

"AAAAAH!"

"Hehehe!"

Zoro turns around when he feels something rubbery brush past him, but barely has time to understand that Luffy decided to go on an adventure. Again. Taking everyone with him, in the simplest, most violent way he knows.

The human – and reindeer – cluster hits him full speed and sends him tumbling along the mess of bodies and limbs to the soft beach beneath. When he lands face first on said beach and swallows a good mouthful of it – fortunately, he closed his eyes when the world started rolling around him – he decides he's gonna kill his captain. And when, a split second later, a sharp knee lands between his own, way too close to his very private parts for his comfort, soon followed by a body rendered heavy by the momentum and added weight – _did they all land on top of me?_ – he changes his mind. He's killing whoever fell on him first. Then Luffy. And probably everyone else afterward.

He starts spitting sand, hearing his crew-mates complaining loudly above him.

"Ow ow ow..."

"Am I alive?"

"You... You – are – so – dead."

He can also hear Robin soft chuckles, almost drowned by their captain's loud laughter. The kid seems delighted by his own joke. He probably thinks he's very funny. But Zoro's pissed, and he got sand between his teeth – certainly not the long-awaited meal he expected. Nami's right : Luffy is so very dead.

He tries to get himself out of the human – and reindeer – pile, but his right leg is stuck under whoever fell right on top of him. He wants to crane his neck and glare, but falls very still when he sees the hand in the sand, inches from his nose. A hand with white, fine skin, and long, slender fingers, so close he can make out the small scars at the base of its thumb. A hand too large to be one of the girls', but certainly smaller than his, and much more delicate. The attached arm is clad in a black sleeve adorned with golden buttons, and he can see the sea-green shirt underneath. He turns his head a bit, and realizes his vision is obscured by fine blond hair, though he can still make out its owner's wide, blue eyes behind that thin veil. The cook's body feels warm and solid in his back.

Zoro doesn't dare moving.

But Sanji lets out a badly muffled gasp, and starts shifting faintly, as if he wanted nothing more than putting some distance between them. Zoro feels strangely hurt by this reaction, which fuels his anger even more. He's rarely felt that angry in his whole life. He feels betrayed.

In a violent surge of adrenaline, he manages to move up, sending his friends tumbling on the floor. He stands, his back tense, and slowly turns around. Nobody's saying a word. Usopp is trying to hide behind Robin, who's standing up, her face unreadable, and they're both staring. Chopper is sitting in the sound, his eyes wide, seemingly stunned by Zoro's somewhat violent reaction. He then takes in Nami's narrowing eyes, as well as Luffy's nonplussed expression. The cook is standing up as well, and soon starts brushing his hands over his suit, probably to remove sand from his clothes. He's the only one not looking at him.

The nearby forest suddenly looks extremely appealing to him. Here, on the beach, the sun is way to bright.

_Right._

He growls faintly, and starts walking.

He's barely stepped inside the forest when Nami's voice resonates behind him.

"Idiot! You'll get lost!"

He grunts, purposefully ignoring her. The fact she hasn't said a word to him in forever crosses his mind, but he ignores that as well. Right now, he's angry – and maybe just a bit hungry. A few seconds later, he hears her shout again. But he's too far to make out her words now.

He keeps walking, and soon realizes he's being followed. Unwilling to stop, he slows down a bit to risks a glance over his shoulder, and catches a glimpse of blond hair amidst the foliage.

_Shit._

He really doesn't want to find himself alone with that idiot right now.

He resumes walking at a faster pace. He doesn't dare hoping he can lose the cook, with his long, swift legs, not even in this thick undergrowth, the sneaky bastard. But he'll sure as hell try. The other keeps up silently, aside from the occasional muffled curse escaping his mouth. Curiously, it reminds him of yet another dream he had, some time ago. A dream where he as the one following the cook in an eerily similar forest, except the guy quickly lost him. The situation is reversed here, which Zoro finds troubling. He starts feeling quite uncomfortable at that thought, and slows down ever-so-slightly.

He doesn't keep track of time, but after what's probably a short while, he can't take it anymore. He stops dead in his tracks and turns around to face the other, eyes narrowed, as if to pierce through him and figure out what the hell the cook is thinking. The latter is still following him at a steady pace, hands in his pockets and cigarette in his mouth. He stops not three feet from him, and hangs there, not looking at him, his posture seemingly relaxed, but Zoro knows better. They've been fighting alongside for some time now, and there's no way he wouldn't notice the rigidity in the other's shoulders, and the slight tension in his stance. He's also pretty sure Sanji's clenching his fists in his pockets, thinking Zoro won't see.

Which makes him all the more irritated. Why is the cook following him if his mere proximity makes him feel so nervous? Narrowing his eyes further, he stares at the other, who pointedly evades the glare, looking at some bushes, taping the tip of his polished shoe against the earthy ground. At that small sign of discomfort, Zoro almost snorts. Except he's not really amused right now.

"Stop following me, shit-cook."

Sanji's head bows as his eyes set on the ground he's still poking, and he lets out a faint chuckle.

"No can do, dumbass." He raises his head and glances briskly at Zoro, before focusing on the ground, kicking some invisible dirt he's obviously the only one to see. "Nami-swan trusts me to prevent your mossy head from getting lost in its natural habitat." He nods at the surrounding greenery, a faint smirk on his face.

Oh. That explains it, then. Of course, she'd ask him, knowing he wouldn't be able to refuse anything to one of his female crew-mates. Trust the witch and the shit-cook to make his daily life a lot more complicated than it should be. Snorting in a somewhat disgusted fashion, Zoro turns away from the other, and resumes walking.

Of course, the cook is quick to follow him again.

They keep walking like that for a while, Zoro leading and Sanji following without a word. It feels strange, to him. It's usually the other way around. The cook won't ever let him lead him anywhere, whether they're exploring an unknown island or shopping for food, because he supposedly has no sense of direction.

They keep walking, and he soon notices that the shit-cook's breathing is a bit short. Not surprising, considering that idiot hasn't slept much lately. He must be very tired. _Serves him right_ , Zoro thinks, walking faster. Sanji manages to follow for a while. But after some time, he hears him starting to run in his back, until he catches up and grabs Zoro roughly by his shirt, preventing him from going further.

"Stop running away, marimo."

He pauses, and for a moment, it seems the guy has actual trouble breathing, which worries Zoro a bit, despite his irritation – the guy just implied he's a coward, after all. But now that he's looking from closer, the shit-cook really looks frighteningly exhausted. Paler than usual, his skin so white than it looks almost translucent. Zoro can see the veins beneath the skin of his wrist where his shirt pulled back a bit, when he grabbed him. For a few seconds, he can't tear his eyes from the cook's hand.

_Snap out of it, or you're going to screw up again._

"We need to talk," Sanji adds after a while, his breathing a bit more even.

Zoro raises his eyes to look at his face. The dark shadows under his eyes are a stark contrast against that strangely delicate-looking skin. He feels irritated at the cook's persistence, as well as his stupidity, and even more at his immature reaction to the situation. Which doesn't prevent him to wince inwardly at the thought that the exhaustion the guy is currently facing is partly his fault. Grunting, he violently tears himself away from the cook's grasp, but doesn't try to leave. Despite what the cook seems to think, he's not a coward, and he's not running away.

"I don't wanna talk," he growls through clenched teeth.

"Oh, really?" The cook reaches inside his jacket to retrieve a cigarette, and proceeds to light up. "Well, good for you, because I, for one, have something to say."

Zoro grunts dismissively. He'd rather be elsewhere, anywhere but here, actually. Because he knows, more or less, what the cook's about to tell him about. With his rigid posture and the tension in the guy's jaw, he can't imagine what else he'd like to discuss, in the middle of a wild forest, on that uninhabited island. He knows things might get even worse if they start talking about it. They might never be friends again after that, and Zoro doesn't want that, though he reckons that the current tension between them is hard to bear. But there's no running away from it, if the cook decided it was time to talk. So, he waits tensely, foreboding anxiety taking hold of his gut.

The guy breathes out smoke through his nose, and lets out a sigh, before opening his mouth. And, inevitably, the words Zoro's been dreading since that huge blunder of his fall through his lips.

"About that night..." He mutters hesitantly, before trailing off, clearly embarrassed and apparently looking for his words.

And it's not surprising, really. Of course, the cook would feel awkward about what happened that time. But Zoro doesn't intend to go over that stupid night, no more than he intends discussing the mess they're currently in.

"There's nothing to talk about," he says, his tone cutting like sharpened steel, and his eyes, narrowed. "Nothing happened."

Sanji doesn't answer right away, his face almost perfectly blank, if it weren't for the small twitch in his curly eyebrow, betraying his irritation at Zoro's dry retort. Then, after a while, he shakes his head slowly, and drags heavily on his cigarette.

"Right." His tone definitely displays a slight aggravation at Zoro's denial, despite his obvious effort to hide it under a cool exterior. "What's got your panties in a bunch, then?"

Zoro cringes ever-so-slightly at Sanji's words of choice, though he doesn't want to think about his reasons for doing so. He'd rather have the cook leave him alone for the time being. He doesn't need what's happening. And despite his earlier assessment that he's not a coward, he doesn't feel ready to acknowledge what happened, and certainly not to the cook.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, please. You've been avoiding me for the past two weeks." He narrows his eyes, and, once again, Zoro feels scrutinized. "Why, since nothing happened?"

Zoro doesn't reply right away, not trying to make up for time, but simply not knowing how to reply to that. Of course, if nothing happened, there shouldn't be any problem between them. He doesn't know how to get himself out of this, aside from admitting that something did happen. And he's not about to do that. It might seem petty, which Zoro prides himself in not being, but he doesn't want to look like he's contradicting his own behavior. Furthermore, he's certainly not gonna tell the guy that he feels weirded out by his own reaction, or that he sometimes feels _off_ when the cook's around. He's not going to tell him that he's afraid of Sanji's reaction, if he ever starts doing weird shit again, unable to control his instinctive, physical responses when the cook's too close to him for comfort. Not any time soon. He still has trouble even admitting that to himself.

It's too much for him to tell the cook yet. Instead, he finds himself naturally falling back on something he's familiar with : aggression.

"You're the one who's been avoiding me, curly-brow."

He stops, waiting for Sanji's retort. When it unexpectedly doesn't come, he looks up at him, only to find him standing very still. He'd almost looks like he's going to run away, any moment from now, if it weren't for the very tense expression on his features.

"That's – shit, that's not true!" Sanji finally replies after a moment, stuttering in his apparent haste to justify his behavior, and his voice just a tad too high.

"Oh, really?" Zoro presses further, crossing his arms and frowning, feeling he's got the upper hand in the conversation, for once. "Then tell me why you're not sleeping around the crew anymore?"

 _In the same room as me_ , he wants to say, but doesn't dare. The cook seems to catch the barely disguised insinuation, though.

"I – that's – well, I..." Sanji stops, clearly unable to find what to retort. "Shit," he mutters through clenched teeth.

He lets go of his slowly extinguishing cigarette and smashes it vengefully under his sole, before reaching into his jacket for a new one. He lights up, and Zoro notices his hands are shaking.

"I..." He starts again, avoiding Zoro's gaze, fumbling into the ground with the heel of his shoe.

The swordsman waits not-so-patiently for him to go on, but after a while, it doesn't seem like he's going to. Zoro's not too far from seeing red. What's with that fucker's unusual elusiveness – because Sanji's never at a loss of word, is he? Is he playing for time? Before he knows it, he finds himself ultimately opening his mouth.

"Whatever," he growls exasperatedly. "You don't seem to think I'm worth spending time around, and you made that pretty clear. Why should I even bother, anyway? Every single second spent around your pansy-arsed self is wasted time, shitty cook." He adds, raising his eyes to glare at the guy. "I don't c–"

But he stops when he notices the cook's posture has changed. He's still avoiding Zoro's eyes, looking at his shoes, face hidden by his blond hair. His shoulders are slumped, yet his whole body is strained by tension, and the shaking seems to be getting worse. When he finally looks up at Zoro, the latter has never seen such a dejected look on the other man's face. And immediately, he regrets opening his big, clumsy mouth.

"You..." He starts, but has to stop, interrupted by violent shudders that shake his whole body. It almost looks as if he's about to start sobbing, but his eyes, filled with intense hurt and anger, are clearly dry.

"You're an asshole," he starts again, his voice tight with fury. "You're a fucking asshole, you know that? All this time, I've... I..." He stops, apparently unable to find words strong enough to express his disgust. "You're an asshole, and I'm an idiot," Sanji adds, finally succeeding in muffling his anger quite effectively, and eying Zoro coldly, "for hoping, even for a second, that you weren't that bad. That there was more to you than you'd like the world to think. How silly of me," he snorts, his tone sarcastic.

His words hit Zoro like a punch in the gut. He'd almost forgotten how highly the cook thought of him. Looked up to him, in a weird way, which never failed to make Zoro feel warm in the face. This time, too, he can feel his face heating up, but for a vastly different reason. He feels like he missed the point entirely.

"Huh?" He manages to blurt, feeling utterly confused. "You're the one who freaked out..." He trails off, frowning, still not willing to mention what happened in the galley a few days ago.

Sanji looks at him coldly, before dragging on his cigarette, and letting out unamused chuckles.

"Not only are you an asshole, but you're also a real moron."

He suddenly walks up to Zoro and grabs his collar, before sputtering at him, cool composure all but forgotten.

"When will you finally figure out that what happened that time is totally irrelevant? It was NOTHING!"

Sanji now looks infuriated. His blue irises, filled with cold rage, are piercing through Zoro, who doesn't understand what the cook's telling him. He feels dazed, and narrows his own eyes, as if trying to decipher what the other's face is trying to show him, past all the angry words, so close to his own he can feel the heat from his ragged breathing. But he can't understand. Nothing makes sense anymore. And there's only one thing he can think of right now.

_It was nothing? Then..._

"Why are you so angry?" He mutters before being able to stop himself.

Once again, Sanji starts chuckling almost manically, but that sound fills Zoro with dread, grating at his eardrums more effectively than a thousand nails on a chalkboard.

"I'm angry, you big idiot, because I thought we were – that we could be friends, and at the slightest slip, you kicked it all into the long grass!"

After such a heartfelt confession, he looks breathless. The silence around them is suddenly deafening.

After a while, Sanji releases Zoro's collar, pushing him backwards so hard he falls on his ass.

"Get lost, asshole. I don't want to see your ugly mug," Sanji tells him coldly, turning his back so Zoro can't see his face anymore.

But Zoro is unable to move for now. He's stunned, and pretty much unable to comprehend what just happened. The cook was supposed to be afraid of him. Disgusted, most likely. Pitying him, maybe. Not angry. Certainly not angry at him because he thought Zoro regarded their friendship so poorly that he didn't think it could withstand such a little thing as _Zoro getting a fucking boner while the cook was straddling him_.

Nothing makes sense.

A couple seconds later, Sanji turns around, and of course, Zoro's still sitting there, his mind completely blank.

"Piss off!" He shouts dryly, but his tone isn't as cutting as before. Zoro absentmindedly thinks he really sounds tired.

He slowly stands up, not knowing if he should apologize or just leave, as the cook is asking him, and avoid fucking up things even further. It occurs to him that he might have hurt Sanji more than he thought was possible, and guilt fills him like burning sand. He'd better leave.

He steps in whatever direction is before him, not caring where he'll end up, just willing to put as much distance as he can between them. But after a few steps, he hesitates. He wonders if apologizing wouldn't be better, after all, even if he now feels it's utterly useless. There's nothing salvageable here. Nevertheless, he finds himself slowly turning around, trying vainly to ignore the trembling in the cook's slumped shoulders as he does, and opening his mouth.

"I..."

He wants to tell him he's sorry, but he finds himself ultimately unable to. The words are stuck in the back of his throat, caught in the space between drive and speech. Grunting and shaking his head, he decides not to bother, and finally give Sanji the space he asked for. His ears barely register the faint rustling sound behind him. When he glances in the other man's direction, he sees the cook bracing himself against a large tree's mossy trunk. He takes in the wavering legs, the ragged breathing. He's already starting to go back, as Sanji manages to sit down, slumping against the tree.

"I told you to leave, dumbass. I..." He says, his voice faint.

As if to contradict his latest words, he grabs Zoro's forearm as he kneels down next to him, and his fingers around him are shaking.

"I'm not feeling too well," the cook soon adds, sounding as if talking was nearly too much of an effort to him.

Zoro doesn't know what's happening to Sanji, but he suspects it has to do with the lack of sleep he's had to endure. Eying the other man and trying to muffle a sudden surge of concern, he briefly wonders if the guy's slept at all since that fucking night.

"Shut up, curlycue," he says, sliding his arms under Sanji's and lifting him over his shoulder. "I'm taking you to Chopper."

But Sanji doesn't hear, because he's quietly passed out against Zoro's shoulder.


	15. These feelings we can't control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's not ready, and he doesn't know if he'll ever be.

"IDIOTS!" Chopper squeals in frustration, the short whiskers around his blue nose twitching ever-so-slightly, which would be comical and overwhelmingly cute even to Zoro if his reindeer nakama wasn't so obviously worried and angry. "Especially you, Sanji! You know how important it is to take good care of your body. And I know – I know you're perfectly aware that it's not just about food. You need to _sleep_ as well."

The cook, lying on the couch in the boys' cabin, shifts in his sleepy daze, groaning weakly in response. He's been dozing off during the whole trip back to the ship, and he doesn't look as bad as he did when he passed out. His shaky breathing is also steadier, though he's still much too pale, as far as Zoro's concerned. Either way, if that didn't do it for Sanji's recovery, he thinks that the uncomfortable nap – spent tossed over the swordsman's shoulder – helped in making him feel a bit better. Which is a good thing. Definitely good.

It does nothing to ease the swordsman's guilty conscience on the whole fiasco, though. He feels very responsible for Sanji's current state of exhaustion. Rightfully so, he thinks.

The little doctor frowns, and turns towards Zoro, who almost recoils after seeing the glint of anger and sadness in his usually gentle eyes.

"And you!" He says in a slightly lower voice, so Sanji can get the rest he needs without being disturbed. "What took you so long? You two were gone for hours! You should have come back as soon as he collapsed!"

Another muffled groan from the far side of the room interrupts his angry lecture. They both turn to Sanji, shifting tiredly on the couch, and catch his words, mumbled through a somewhat weak bout of laughter that almost sounds like exhausted coughing.

"Marimo got lost," he snorts weakly, which has Zoro narrowing his eyes at him in irritation.

"Shut up and sleep!" Chopper shouts at the cook in a clearly exasperated tone.

He sighs, obviously frustrated. Shaking his head and sighing, he grabs the hem of Zoro's shirt, urging him to leave the room. He closes the hatch behind them once they're out on deck, and sighs once more.

"He needs to stay put and sleep a lot for a couple days," he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else, even though Zoro's right beside him.

The fact is they're alone on the ship, aside from Sanji, quietly resting below deck. The others were apparently dragged along by Luffy, who didn't feel like waiting for him and Zoro to come back before exploring the island. Fortunately, Chopper decided to stay and watch the ship. Zoro wonders if it's really been just luck, though. From the way Chopper's been berating them both from the moment they came back, he's starting to think his nakama knows more of what's happened between them than he lets on.

"I wonder why he's been unable to sleep like that," the doctor adds after a while, as if on cue. "His insomnia has never been that bad. Fortunately, it's just exhaustion. Nothing a little sleep can't cure."

At Chopper's words, Zoro feels a tension he never even noticed was there leave him. Sanji will be fine. He wasn't really worried, but hearing it from their doctor is the best proof that everything will be all right, even if he knows mending things between them will be difficult. Letting out a deep sigh, he closes his eyes and rests his weight on the mast, the warm wood on his back. Actually, he's feeling a little light-headed. Probably because the last time he had something to eat was days ago. And he never got to hunt his lunch, after all. Because of the shit-cook. That idiot.

 _Chopper is right_ , he thinks. _He's an idiot, and so am I._

When he opens his eyes, Chopper's looking at him peculiarly.

"Zoro?" He asks worriedly.

"Hmm?" He replies noncommittally.

"How are you feeling?" The doctor asks softly.

Zoro almost chuckles at his question. He's certainly not feeling right, not after the past few days of confusion and hunger, not to mention the guilt he's feeling right now. But he's not going to involve Chopper in his personal shit, and he's certainly not going to tell him that he hasn't been eating much lately, especially not after witnessing his wrath towards Sanji's insomnia.

"Yeah. I'm fine," he replies in a faint groan he hopes sounds nonchalant enough.

But Chopper doesn't move, looking at him pointedly, his eyes wide and somewhat sad. Zoro suddenly has the feeling that his nakama doesn't believe him at all.

 _He noticed_ , he realizes. _They probably all did._

And it's not really surprising, since he hasn't showed up for meals in days, which earned him quite a few odd looks from his crew-mates. It's not like he intended to lie to Chopper, who knows that Zoro never dwells on his physical discomfort, anyway. However bad it can get.

_It's good to feel needed._

As Sanji's raspy voice resonates in his mind, his words bright and clear like tropical waters, Zoro suddenly decides he doesn't want to burden Chopper any more than he already has. Even if it's embarrassing as hell. He closes his eyes again, and swallows thickly before speaking.

"I'm... I'm a bit hungry, though," he mutters softly, his voice a mere whisper.

Which doesn't prevent Chopper to startle at his words. His eyes widen in surprise at this small acknowledgment of weakness, so unlike him, and seconds later, the biggest tears Zoro's ever seen in his eyes – even in his emotionally sensitive crew-mate's eyes, start rolling along his blue nose. Chopper suddenly latches at his leg and starts wailing – though he's much less loud than usual, probably not wanting to disturb Sanji, who's sleeping right under their feet.

"I'm not flattered or touched that you trust me so much, asshole!" The reindeer cries through the tears and snot staining his fur, his words muffled by Zoro's trousers.

Zoro doesn't care about the snot, not really, but he's a little puzzled by Chopper's intense reaction. After a moment, though, he realizes it's not that surprising. Chopper's a perceptive kid, and if Sanji was right about this "feeling needed" shit, his reaction does make sense, in a way.

Maybe his semi-confession was worth the trouble and embarrassment, after all.

Still crying and sputtering nonsense about "idiots lacking self-preservation instincts", Chopper drags him into the galley. Once there, the doctor switches to Heavy Point and starts feverishly opening cupboards left and right, while Zoro rests his swords against the wall and sits at the table.

Moments later, bread and honey are placed in front of him, as well as a spoon and a knife. Zoro's not too fond of sweet stuff, but he's not going to complain about it now. He's hungry, and he doesn't want to hurt Chopper's good-willed feelings.

"I'm no good in the kitchen," Chopper starts while sitting in front of him, sniffling pitifully every once in a while but otherwise overcoming his earlier crying fit, "but Sanji's out cold and honey's good. Nutritious and stuff."

He grabs the knife and starts cutting thick slices of bread, but as Zoro suspected, he's not doing a very good job. Probably because the knife's not supposed to be used like this, he guesses, despite the fact he knows nothing about the specific use for the various utensils Sanji insisted on bringing aboard. That one's got no teeth, so it's not hard to see. Before Chopper can butcher that innocent loaf of bread further, he puts his hand over the reindeer's smaller hoof.

"I'll do it."

He starts cutting, doing a much better job than his crew-mate, who begins lathering every single slice with a thick layer of honey.

They eat in relative silence. Despite the fact Zoro isn't big on sweet things, he finds himself wanting more after his first slice, and starts pouring honey directly from the pot since Chopper's currently using the spoon, too lazy to get one for himself.

Once done eating, he glances up at his friend, and lets out deep chuckles at the sight. There's nearly as much honey on Chopper – and the table – as in their stomachs.

"There's honey on your face," he tells the puzzled reindeer, nodding at his blue nose.

Chopper giggles merrily at that.

"You've got some in your hair, you know!" He replies, delighted to see Zoro frowning and feeling his short hair, smearing all the more honey there by doing so.

Chopper sighs, a lot more contentedly than before, to Zoro's relief, and glances at the table. They ruined the bread, and the honey pot is almost empty.

"We should clean up, I guess. Sanji will kick our asses for making a mess of his kitchen." He sighs. "I should check up on him, just in case. If he's awake or worse, smoking, I'll kill him," he adds a bit somberly.

This atmosphere felt so much lighter than it had ever been in the previous week that Zoro almost forgot about his fucked up situation with Sanji. Something clenches uncomfortably in his gut at the mention of the cook's name, but despite this, he realizes he feels better. Still guilty, still somewhat disappointed at his own shortcomings, but better. Chopper, as well as the hearty snack they just had, are probably to thank for that.

"I'll clean up," he offers. "You check on the shit-cook."

The reindeer looks up at Zoro, his face somewhat thoughtful, and nods. He hops off the chair, and heads for the room's door. Before leaving, though, he turns back to look at Zoro once again.

"You know..." The little reindeer starts, looking concerned and unsure of how to word his thoughts.

Zoro doesn't dare press him, because he's got the feeling that what Chopper is going to tell him is important, somehow, and he knows how easily his friend can give into his lack of self-confidence.

But Chopper shakes his head, and exits the room without a word, leaving Zoro wondering what he meant to say.

 

 

***

Later that day, when Zoro wakes up to an eerily silent ship, his back against the warm planks of the wooden deck, he has a hard time remembering where he is. He's just had yet another dream, though he can't really remember what happened there. All he can say is that it was a pleasant dream, and he's also pretty sure that Sanji was prominently featured all along. It seems to be important, for some reason, and he really wants to remember. Blinking against the night's cloudless sky, sprinkled with a thousand stars, and ultimately closing his eyes again in hopes it'd help, he grasps at the remnants of his dream. However, the fleeting images disappear, like sand seeping through clenched fingers, leaving him with a faint feeling of loss.

He represses a sleepy groan.

He listens to the soft noise of the waves lapping at the wooden hull for a while, his sleep-foggy thoughts slowly getting sharper. He can remember that he fell asleep on Merry's deck, after that eventful day, willing to recharge before his watch.

Opening his eyes again, he peers into the night sky, into the nearly full moon, pale yet bright, and sighs.

After cleaning the kitchen table to the best of his abilities, he decided to train a bit. And since Chopper was using the bathroom, he'd shower after him. He felt better after the copious snack they had together, more energized than he had been in days, but after that stressful row with Sanji, he needed to relieve his anxiety. Training was the best way he knew, aside from drinking booze, but for some reason, he didn't feel like ransacking Sanji's stash right now. He felt guilty enough as it was.

He trained until the others came back, a few hours later, Luffy shouting for meat and Nami hitting him on the head with a delicate though unforgiving and rather well-aimed fist, shouting that it was almost lunch time. Sanji was still sleeping then, and when he was asked where the cook was, Chopper told them he hadn't felt well earlier, and was napping. Which was essentially the truth, though he didn't say anything about Zoro's involvement in the matter. The latter was grateful to their doctor for keeping whatever he knew about their situation – even if it wasn't much – a secret.

He listened to his friends while finishing his final set of lifts. From what he gathered, Nami had heard from a sailor on the last island they stopped at that the log pose would take at least a couple more days to set. It really wasn't that much of a bother, since they'd spotted remains of a sunken ship not too far from the shore, hidden behind cape that stood on the east of where they dropped anchor at. Not so surprisingly, Nami wanted to salvage it, just in case some riches lay underwater. Of course, Luffy wanted to go with her – and so did Robin, who wanted to see if she could find anything of interest in the wreckage. Usopp, Sanji and himself would have to go too, because Luffy and Robin couldn't swim, and there was no way Nami was going to do all the work.

Of course, Chopper was quick to intervene, saying Sanji needed to rest until the following day at least. Which had Luffy whine in desperation, because if Sanji had to sleep, there was no way he was making lunch.

Fortunately, Robin soon said she could fix something easy, like sandwiches. Later, as he was eating his share – and trying to protect it from Luffy's grabby hands – Zoro was secretly glad that Nami hadn't offered to do it. Not just because she'd probably charge an inordinate amount for each bite, but also because he could still remember his early days in the crew, when it was just her, Luffy and himself, and later, Usopp as well. After a while, even Luffy had declared he'd rather cook himself than have Nami do it, even though he'd eat anything – and his cooking was truly terrible. Actually worse than Zoro's, who admittedly had no idea how to treat food, other than applying some kind of heat to it.

He was kind of glad they'd found a cook soon after that, despite the fact the guy was an idiot at first glance. Sanji's cooking wasn't bad at all, definitely better than anything their other crew-members could do, though Zoro was never picky. To him, food was either edible, or it wasn't, and that was it. He never doubted the fact that the cook had trained his taste-buds for a long time, to be able to tell the difference between good and excellent food. He himself didn't have such a skill – and he didn't care, because it was irrelevant, and ultimately useless to him – though he'd never admit such a thing in front of Sanji, of course.

After lunch, he had a quick shower – sticky didn't even begin to describe how he felt – and decided that a nap would be a good idea, because he had watch that night.

Obviously, this hasn't gone too well. Judging by the silence currently surrounding him, everyone has gone to bed a while ago. He slept through dinner – if the slight cramping of his stomach is any indication. Which sucks, because he's now very hungry – and he's quite fed up with feeling hungry, all things considered – but also because someone had to take his place on watch. And if there's something Zoro dislikes profoundly, it's feeling indebted to someone for irrelevant things like that.

He really hopes it's not Nami who agreed to replace him on watch. But at the same time, he really doubts she'd go to such lengths just to raise his debt. The sea-witch loves her beauty sleep, despite the fact she proved she could skip a fair bit of it if there was something in it for her...

When he realizes where that train of thought is taking him, he purposefully decides to stop in his tracks.

_It's not like the cook would let her when he could gladly do it, anyway._

Well, to be perfectly honest, to Zoro, this thought isn't much better than the ones about Nami, especially after the cook suffered from a dire lack of sleep partly because of him. But curiously, he doesn't mind thinking about him as much as he does when it comes to her. Still, he groans faintly, exasperated at his own ability to discard such irrelevant matters. He used to be able to do it more easily, before his life got fucked up in all kind of ways.

Either way, it's now too late to whine about missing dinner or his watch – and Zoro doesn't whine about anything, ever. He decides it won't make a difference if he takes his time waking up properly.

Letting out a faint sigh, he lets his mind wander back towards the earlier events – his clash with Sanji in particular. He wonders if the cook is still sleeping, or if he felt well enough to make dinner. He sighs. He was kind of looking forward to eating Sanji's cooking again, after fasting for a whole week.

He still doesn't know how to face the cook, but he decides that he can't run away from him anymore. If he thought it'd be easier for the both of them to avoid each other, then Sanji obviously feels differently. It seems like he values their blossoming friendship more than Zoro thought he ever would. And when he thinks about it, it was the cook who'd initiated the changes by trying to be nicer to him. Sanji gave them a chance to start anew, and he guesses he should give him the credit he deserves. He feels like he owes it to the cook to make a little effort in that direction. He only hopes that, after all they went through, their bond isn't irrevocably gone. That it can be mended.

Because he'd like it if they could still be friends, very much so. In the end, he doesn't think they could go back to what they had before, simple rivalry and light-hearted antagonism. Not after getting so close to each other, and not after possibly ruining it all. He doesn't know if he could bear it if the cook started really hating him either. Even if he could, he doesn't want that.

Sanji's not as much of an asshole as he used to think. Zoro would be lying if he pretended that he was never touched by the small, thoughtful gestures Sanji displayed towards him since he decided to give him a chance. Also, he tried to cheer him up when he felt down, which only serves to prove he cares about Zoro's well-being. Worries about him, even if he doesn't really like to show it – which only makes his displays of concern all the more significant. Finally, he was obviously hurt when he thought Zoro didn't believe he cared, which he realizes he still has to apologize for.

In the end, he guesses he likes Sanji well enough, when he's not making a fool out of himself from a nearby pair of boobs, or endlessly nagging him about something stupid he did, or didn't do. Zoro has to admit that he likes the companionship, whenever they succeed in having an actual conversation without trying to rip each other's throat out. Curiously, he also likes when Sanji decides to prepare food just for him, like that quiet moment they spent in the galley some time ago. He even likes it a lot. He remembers how warm it made him feel, in all kinds of ways. Can feelings be tasted, when eating food prepared by someone who cares? Zoro can't really tell, but he's pretty sure the cook would answer positively if he ever asked him that question. He wouldn't be surprised if Sanji was talented enough to make food taste differently, if he really put his heart into it.

And yet, despite this new, strange fondness for the cook he's discovered within himself along the way, Zoro feels troubled.

The fact is that he's been thinking about the cook a lot lately. Not just since that night when they went out to drink and shit happened, but even before then. Ever since the dreams started, actually. He never acknowledged it before – unwilling to let his mind go to places where it shouldn't be – but he always made it a point to be perfectly honest with himself. Pretending he's not obsessed with what happened between them recently would be useless, at this point.

And it got worse. Nowadays, Sanji's pretty much all he can think of. He can't help it, and that thought is almost frightening. Somehow, Sanji makes him feel confused about things that he wouldn't have looked twice at before. He could attribute it to the fact that they were getting close, maybe too close for comfort. Closer than he's used to, anyway. It makes him feel uneasy.

He never questioned his relationships with his other crew-mates, or other bounty hunters – like Johnny and Yosaku, or even Kuina. Nor did he question what he had with Nami, not really. After he was able to accept it for what it was, he never questioned it again. And actually, maybe he should have done so, considering the way it ended. But he never did.

And now, Zoro's finding that he can't really tell what he feels for Sanji anymore. He never cared that much about anyone, aside from Kuina – but it was natural from the start, very different from what he's experiencing now. It feels like he's entering a foreign, possibly risky territory, and it troubles him greatly.

He's not used to feeling like this.

How should he explain why his heart tends to race when Sanji comes too close? Or why he reacted the way he did when they had that stupid argument in the galley? He can't understand. As far as he's concerned, these are all signs of physical attraction. But he can't even get his head around that one, for many reasons.

He can admit that, before today, he not-so-unconsciously thought that, maybe, he was only feeling horny. He got used to having sex regularly at some point, and perhaps he simply missed it. Sex with Nami had been good, but now that it's gone, his body feels deprived. His bout of self-indulgence, while on watch in the crow's nest about a week ago, only served to prove it further.

But for one thing, he's certainly not physically attracted to the cook, not in the least. At most, he might admit that he's a little fascinated with Sanji's eyes, or maybe that he has a nice face. But he's also a guy, looking nothing like people he usually finds himself attracted to – girls exclusively, until now.

Overall, Sanji might be pleasant to look at, but it has nothing to do with what happened, or what he currently feels.

He can't ignore the fact that, mere seconds before his stupid body decided to act on his own back in the galley, he had felt a pull. He'd be lying if he tried to pretend that his heart hadn't started to race from being so close to Sanji, their faces mere inches from each other. Closer than they had ever been, aside from the time spent in a dark alley, on an island they left behind mere weeks ago.

Another thing he finds rather terrifying – and again, that's something he's not exactly used to – is that if he hadn't fucked up and freaked out when shit happened that night, he would have kissed Sanji again. He doesn't know why, but he was clearly about to do so. Instinctive reaction, he supposes, since they'd already done it once. He'd normally push away anyone with the nerve to get in his face like that, but... Kissing has been part of his routine for a while, until Nami decided to end it.

He wishes he could blame this unexpected drive to kiss Sanji on that, but he knows he can't. Because he now finds that it wasn't really unwanted – not if the dreams he's been having lately are a projection of unconscious desires, which is incredibly disturbing to him. He can't help but wonder if it's astonishing, or just plain horrifying. He's rarely felt astonished in his life, and even less horrified.

He frowns, unwilling to acknowledge that just yet. He's not ready, and he doesn't know if he'll ever be.

Now that he thinks about it, the cook had definitely felt something was about to happen, too. Zoro only needs to close his eyes to remember how tense the guy's body felt against his thighs, where Sanji's weight rested lightly. For a moment, before he screwed up, the cook had looked confused. Almost frightened.

Zoro doesn't know if he should be glad that his body decided to betray him at that precise moment, breaking the momentum between them. In the worst way possible. Honestly, what would be worse : having to justify his actions after trying to kiss a guy – who happens to be his crew-mate and nakama and _friend_ – and the resulting rejection and overall freaking out? Or instead, finding himself in this screwed up situation, not knowing how to face the guy – a very _straight_ guy – who might now reasonably think that Zoro has the hots for him?

But Zoro doesn't think he's attracted to Sanji, not like that. Even if he was, he'd ignore it, because it would make things much too complicated. He doesn't want a repeat of what happened with Nami. _As if the cook would ever be interested in another dude_ , Zoro tells himself, smiling maybe just somewhat bitterly. _Not gonna happen_.

Nevertheless, admitting that there is indeed a pull whenever he thinks of the cook – and his blue eyes – _don't even go there_ – means that he should revise his whole outlook on life. Not because the other's a guy, but also because he's the shit-cook. Despite the fact their relationship had become a little more than what it was before, he can't see why he should want even more. And why the cook? Why not Luffy, since they always got along so well? He tries imagining being attracted to his captain in such a way, or actually, any other of his male crew-mates, and almost starts laughing out loud. The idea itself is ridiculous, just as much as being attracted to their cook is.

Somehow, that silly thought makes him feel slightly better.

He briskly sits up and stretches. He's not sleepy anymore, so he guesses he should relieve whoever agreed to be on watch while he was napping.

He gets up, grabs his swords, leaning against the nearby railing, and heads for the mast, soon climbing along the rope ladder. Its soft squeaking in the quiet night must have roused whoever is up there, because a couple of steps before reaching the crow's nest, a head suddenly pops up from behind the wooden railing. He can't really see the person's features, back-lit by the full moon's soft glow, but the sudden whiff of smoke that hits him doesn't really leave room for any guessing.

Leaning on the railing, the cook casually waves at him.

"Yo," he greets him, his tone neutral.

Zoro nearly stops his climbing for a split-second, tensing just a bit, before going on, not bothering with a reply. Sanji moves aside so he can step inside the crow's nest, getting back to what was most likely his position before Zoro's intrusion – sitting against the railing, his legs stretched out against the wooden floor.

"Slept well?" The cook inquires, his voice light and possibly unconcerned.

"Hmm," Zoro noncommittally replies.

He didn't expect to find himself face to face with the cook, not so soon. He doesn't feel ready for that, but he also thinks that if he doesn't now, he most likely never will. Besides, he's not a coward, and it's more than time enough that they stop avoiding each other, if only to avoid a repeat of their fiasco from earlier. He's not going to run away anymore.

Besides, didn't the idiot cook need to rest a lot?

"Why aren't you sleeping?" He asks Sanji, frowning a bit as he sits down from the opposite side of him, placing his swords in his lap.

To Zoro's surprise, the cook smirks good-naturedly at that, and takes a long drag on his cigarette before replying.

"Are you worried about me?" He exhales the smoke, which swirls and twirls against the night sky. "That's cute."

At that, slightly embarrassed and a little annoyed, Zoro grunts almost silently, but doesn't retort. He's not here to bicker with the guy, whatever taunts are thrown at him. Besides, the other seems to be in somewhat of a good mood, since, after all, he's actually talking to him – not shouting or spurting insults, or even shooting hostile glares in his general direction. Zoro's certainly not going to ruin it by starting an argument.

They keep silent for a moment, before Sanji starts again.

"I couldn't sleep any more than I already did," he sighs. "Chopper said it was ok for me to be up if I wasn't sleepy anymore, but that I'd probably tire more easily in the next few days. Until I caught up on sleep, anyway. I had to promise I'd go to bed as soon as it happened, even if I had to wake him up to take my place on watch." He chuckles. "Or yours, actually, since you were originally supposed to be here."

"Well, I'm here now," Zoro replies, trying to be nice, but his tone a little more on the stern side than he intended. "You can leave. If you want." He tentatively adds after a moment, trying to be considerate, and admittedly not doing a very good job.

Sanji snuffs out his cigarette on the sole of his shoe, before flicking the stub towards the ocean.

"No thanks. I'm not sleepy at all." He glances at Zoro briefly, before turning back to the sea. "Besides, you've missed dinner. I can fix you something, if you want."

"I'm fine," Zoro mumbles, though his traitor of a stomach, growling conspicuously as the words exit his mouth, seems to think otherwise.

"Hah," Sanji sneers, his eyes a bit colder and possibly sad when he glances at Zoro again. "Right. Not hungry at all, you shitty swordsman."

He stands up and stretches, before abruptly leaving the crow's nest without another word.

When the cook disappears from his view, Zoro slowly exhales, his body relaxing against the wooden planks in his back. He doesn't really know what to make of the conversation they just had, and he hopes he didn't offend him again by not admitting he was hungry. But at least, they can talk to each other without threats of bodily harm being thrown. It's progress, and he's feeling more relieved than he thought he would. It gives him hope that, maybe, their relationship can be mended, after all. If he makes an effort to be nicer and doesn't screw it up again, that is.

He loses himself in thoughts, silently gazing at the star-filled sky. He doesn't really expect the cook to come back, which might be why he almost jumps when Sanji suddenly reappears over the railing of the crow's nest. There's a plate filled with some kind of spicy-smelling dish on his head, glasses in his hand and a bottle tucked under his arm.

_Stealthy bastard._

Sanji hops into the crow's nest and puts the bottle and glasses on the floor, before placing the plate at Zoro's feet.

"Here's your dinner, marimo. You can have booze later," he says, sitting down next to him and uncorking the bottle with a deft flick of his wrist before pouring himself a glass. "Cheers."

Zoro doesn't react at first, staring at the plate, rendered speechless by the sudden reappearance, but also by the obvious peace offering. He has trouble believing his eyes. More than anything else, he can't understand how quick the cook is to forget about how much of an asshole Zoro was to him, on multiple occasions.

"You don't have to stay," Zoro slowly says after a while. "I can handle watch."

"Well, yeah, but what if I want to stay?" Sanji replies, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

Feeling that he's walking on unsteady grounds, Zoro doesn't try to deter him further, and shrugs silently.

"Come on, moss-head," Sanji scoffs amiably after a moment, sipping on what looks like wine. "That gumbo's not going to eat itself."

And for once, after his empty stomach recalls himself to the world's attention by growling loudly, Zoro can only agree. He grabs the plate and digs in heartily. It's good, of course, like everything Sanji makes. The rice is cooked to perfection, firm and not mushy at all, and the dish itself has just the right balance of spices. In fact, seeing that the cook wants to create peace between them – not to mention keep him company – Zoro decides he might, for once, voice his appreciation. Be nice, and all that.

"Thanks," he mumbles through a mouthful. "It's good."

"Don't speak with your mouth full," Sanji replies, though his casual tone holds no disgust or irritation. "And yeah, you're welcome."

As Sanji takes another sip from his glass, Zoro can't help but worry, maybe just a tiny bit, that it's a bit too soon for him to be having that wine yet.

"You..." He starts, hesitating. "Is it ok for you to be drinking alcohol?" He asks.

Which has Sanji chuckling around his cigarette.

"Look who's talking. Well, I don't plan on drinking myself stupid this time, if that's what you're worried about."

He lifts his glass, making the wine shimmer in the bright moonlight.

"See? I didn't even drink that much yet. Besides, it's not that strong." He pauses thoughtfully. "I know I looked kind of sick earlier, but I'm no weakling, you know. I just needed to sleep more."

That last part has Zoro's appetite plummet from renewed guilt, but he decides he's going to empty his plate, anyway. He doesn't want to offend the cook by wasting food, as well as Chopper, to whom he implicitly promised to eat properly from here on out.

But Sanji puts his glass on the floor to grab the empty one, and fills it with wine before handing it to Zoro.

"Here, try it."

Once again nonplussed by the fact the cook is being so unusually nice to him, Zoro absentmindedly brings the glass to his mouth. Strangely, it tastes good, despite the fact all wines usually taste like fruity piss to him. It's not too strong either, but surprisingly tasty, and spicy enough to compliment the gumbo without being completely overshadowed.

"Don't drown it in one go. It's supposed to be sipped while eating the dish. Tastes better that way."

Zoro can understand why. Somehow, the drink makes the gumbo's spices stand out. He complies, though that doesn't really take any effort on his part. Trust the cook to know better when it comes to food.

They fall silent, Sanji lighting up and occasionally drinking from his glass, and Zoro going on eating until his plate is empty. He wipes his mouth against his wrist, and drowns the last of his wine. He feels better with a full stomach. Also, that beverage Sanji whipped out is starting to grow on him. Of course, it doesn't compare to real booze – a little too light for him – but it's not that bad.

Not to mention, the fact that he and Sanji seem to be on cordial terms again does wonders to his anxiety.

"You know," Sanji starts suddenly, "I got scolded by Chopper. He didn't leave me alone until I promised I'd make sure to feed you properly. I intend to do just that of course. After all, it's my job."

Zoro tenses ever-so-slightly in embarrassment. It's not like he needs anyone taking care of him. But more than anything else, it's the concern the cook is showing towards him that he finds difficult to bear. He's used to Chopper being worried about his health, especially since he's often wounded in battle – though to Zoro, it's nothing, mere scratches most of the time. Yet, despite the fact it's not the first time it's happened, he's not used to Sanji worrying about him. He knows he'll have to, somehow, if he wants them to make up and resume their tentative friendship.

"Huh," he huffs, a faint smirk on his lips. "Do I need to make sure you sleep properly?"

Sanji pauses at his words, looking slightly staggered, before chuckling.

"Well," he replies, "that's your specialty, right? Sleeping." And he starts laughing again, a bit louder.

Not really knowing if the cook is laughing at him, Zoro frowns. Well. He guesses it is funny, in a way. But truthfully, he's a bit disturbed at how casually Sanji is able to speak and laugh around him, after what happened these past few days. Before he can help it, he opens his mouth.

"Why..." He hesitates, not knowing if bringing that topic to Sanji's attention right now is really a good idea.

Sanji calms down a bit and looks at him. His smile makes something flutter lightly in Zoro's chest.

"Yeah?" Sanji says, somewhat encouragingly.

Zoro swallows thickly, and closes his eyes before going on, very conscious of the fact he might be fanning the flames.

"Why aren't you mad at me?" He finally asks.

He waits for an answer, but when it doesn't come, he reopens his eyes.

Sanji is staring in the distance, and Zoro has the feeling he's purposefully avoiding to look in his direction. He also notes he's not smiling anymore.

After a while, the cook lets out a deep sigh, and turns back to him.

"I'm still mad at you, a little bit. But I decided that it doesn't matter. Because, you know what's really funny? I'm mostly mad at myself." He pauses to light a new cigarette, but resumes soon after exhaling smoke. "I mean, you're an idiot, but I knew that already. I knew what to expect, and yet, I went and snapped at you like that. Which makes me as much of an idiot as you are, I guess."

Zoro takes his time to take all of this in. It hurts a bit to know that the cook's still mad at him, but he didn't expect to be forgiven so easily. Because, that's what the cook meant, right? That he's forgiving him.

It makes him feel warm when Sanji's like this, even though he didn't have real booze yet. He doesn't know how to handle the feelings it rouses in him. It's a bit too new, too foreign to him. All he knows is that he won't slap that stretched hand away, not when Sanji seems to be willing to meet him halfway.

He breathes in deeply. What he's about to say is unheard of as of yet, coming from him, and he hopes he won't have to repeat himself.

"I'm sorry," he finally says.

"Huh?" Sanji seems a bit taken aback by his sudden apology.

Looks like he's gonna have to say it again, after all. But he finds that, when it's been said once, it's not really difficult to do it again.

"Well, yeah, I'm sorry." He pauses, trying to gather his thoughts. "For... being an idiot. You know." He breathes in deeply again, and scratches the back of his head in embarrassment, looking away. "If you haven't noticed, I'm kind of bad at this friendship thing."

When he looks up, Sanji is eying him rather peculiarly.

"Friendship, huh..." The cook finally says slowly, dragging leisurely on his nearly extinct cigarette, then shaking his head. "Don't be. I'm equally bad at it. When it comes to you, at least. And anyway, I'm to blame, too." He throws the stub into the sea and chuckles. "Which makes us both hopeless idiots when it comes to each other. But I like that, you know? In the end, you might be an idiot, but you're _my_ idiot," he finishes in a challenging voice, grinning at Zoro.

Zoro's not sure what kind of challenge is issued here, but he's certainly not going to turn it down. Besides, he can't help but genuinely snicker at this silly idea.

"And you're mine, right?"

Sanji looks nonplussed for a split second, then starts laughing loudly.

"Hahaha..." He sputters, between bouts of seemingly inextinguishable laughter. "Yeah, I am... maybe."

Surprisingly, Zoro feels somewhat proud of himself, making Sanji laugh like that from something silly that he said. The cook's eyes are sparkling in the moonlight with unrestrained glee, shining through his bangs, his hair slightly tussled from this uncontrollable laughing bout. This sight is so pleasant to Zoro, all of a sudden, that he can only try not to smile dumbly, his heart racing, unable to tear his eyes from the cook's captivating laughing face.

_Huh...?_

Sanji's laughter gradually recedes, until it dies out in the quiet night, and they remain silent for a couple minutes after that. Slumped against the wooden board in their back, Sanji suddenly clears his throat.

"You know, I wonder if Vivi's departure didn't tip some kind of delicate balance in this crew," he says, his voice low and somewhat serious, before he let out a short sigh. "It was kind of difficult for me. Leaving her behind, I mean."

At this sudden change of topic and tone, Zoro's interest in the conversation sparks up. For some reason, something in his tone, maybe, it feels like the cook's about to tell him something significant.

"Oh?" He says, hoping to sound encouraging.

"Yeah," Sanji answers, sitting a little more upright. "I mean, we're all nakama, and I get along with everyone. But you guys are morons most of the time, and Robin's a little distant – well, she's hasn't been with us for very long either, so I can't really blame her. And Nami... Sometimes, she's not exactly nice to me, you know?" He sighs again. "Vivi was always nice, and it felt a bit lonely after she left. I miss her."

Zoro remains silent. What's the cook trying to tell him here? Does he... like Vivi, or something? At this thought, he feels something clench rather painfully in his chest. He doesn't think he really wants to know what it means.

Sanji doesn't seem disturbed by the lack of response and, after fumbling in his jacket for another cigarette and lighting up, he goes on.

"Actually," he starts, turning his head a bit to look at him, "that's why..."

He trails off, glancing away from Zoro, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

"Why...?" Zoro prompts.

"...Why I thought you and I could use a change of pace, I mean." Sanji replies slowly. "You guys are all idiots, each in your own way, but I've always felt like we were friends. Except for you. You're not exactly approachable, you know."

He turns back towards Zoro to look at him intently, which has his heart pace up again in the most uncontrollable way.

_What...?_

"I wondered why, when I first joined this crew, and I didn't understand because I'm the exact opposite. It made me feel a bit lonely, and even unwanted on several occasions." His lips twist in a small smile, and he tears his eyes away. "That's why we started arguing all the time, actually. Not that you're to blame for that, because that's just the way you are. Just like I am who I am. And I can never leave people like you alone, it seems." He sighs, taking a last drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out. "I simply didn't know what else to do to get a reaction out of you."

Once more, Zoro doesn't know what to say. It's true that they're both very different, he can't argue with that. But to his own astonishment, he feels strangely touched by the fact the cook put so much thought in the underlying currents of their previously nonexistent relationship, before it even started getting anywhere. Touched by his words, and the earnestness behind them. It makes him feel like he's just been offered a truth he's been seeking for a long, long time. A truth which now looks so close he can almost touch it. What the cook's offering is too much for him to handle, or so it seems.

"I'm..." He hesitantly starts, decided not to let the cook bear all the blame for their awkward beginnings. "I never really helped things, did I?"

Sanji chuckles softly before replying.

"No, you didn't. But it doesn't matter. And as I said, I can't blame you, because I'm no better. I handled you in the worst way possible, right from the start. Shitty temper and all that." He pauses, covering his mouth with his hand, muffling a yawn. "But in the end, I actually wonder if it wasn't better that way. Because I still got to see another side of your personality, something that you hide behind that stoic front of yours. I understand how your mind works a little better, now, because of that. It was all worth it."

He looks at Zoro and smiles in a way that looks heartfelt, and also content, maybe. Not the kind of emotions the cook usually directs at him, but whatever. To Zoro, somehow, that smile is more dazzling than the sun, despite the fact the cook looks tired, his eyes surrounded by dark circles.

"You're not that bad, marimo," Sanji finally says, before another yawn renders him silent once more.

Zoro looks away. He doesn't know what to do with what the cook just confessed. No more than he knows what to make of the strange feeling in his chest whenever Sanji smiles at him like that. Once again, his heart is acting up, and once again, he feels warm. Too warm. Sanji's smile is almost too dazzling to him. It lightens up the whole night.

It feels like falling.

Shaking his head almost imperceptibly, he clears his throat.

"Tired?" Zoro asks, almost ready to drag the cook to the men's quarters if he refuses to go to bed.

"Yeah," Sanji says, not even trying to deny it. "But I think I'll sleep here, if you don't mind. I even brought a blanket with me," he adds, grabbing said blanket, which was resting in a corner of the crow's nest until now. "I intended to spend the night here anyway."

"Whatever," Zoro replies.

He doesn't really care, as long as the cook gets all the sleep he needs, though he feels a little surprised at this strange request.

Sanji wraps himself in the blanket he brought and leans back against the railing. As he closes his eyes and falls silent, Zoro can't help but suddenly wonder : all the wistful sighs and sad eyes and overall gloom the cook displayed in the past months... That wasn't because of him, right? That wasn't because he seemed distant and unfriendly? Because he made him feel unneeded, unwanted?

There's no way he's going to question the cook about that though. Not so soon, and maybe not ever. Still, there's something else he'd like to know, though curiously, he never really meant to ask, because he thought it wasn't his business. But that was before he started accepting that he cares about what the cook feels – he does, somehow, and right now, he feels a bit confused, probably because of what Sanji said about Vivi. He really wants to know.

"Hey?" He asks in a low voice, and unwilling to wake him up if he's already asleep.

"Hmm?" Sanji replies somewhat sleepily.

Still awake, then. Inhaling deeply, Zoro opens his mouth.

"You..." He starts tentatively, unsure of how he should word his question. "I thought you liked Nami," he finally says.

Sanji smiles, but doesn't open his eyes.

"Jealous?"

"Nah," Zoro replies softly. "Not anymore."

Sanji lets out a short, tired laugh.

"For you to admit that much..."

He trails off, and Zoro almost believes he finally fell asleep.

"Well, yeah, I like her very much," he soon starts again. "More than anything, I admire her courage and determination. How she tried to save her village, when she was only a little girl, that was really brave. But I'm not in love with her, if that's what you mean." He pauses, before going on, the faint smirk on his lips rapidly fading. "She's more like a sister to me. A beautiful little sister I have to protect from perverts and brutes like you."

"Huh, really..." Zoro smirks as well, the irony of the situation not escaping him. "With the way things turned out in the end, she didn't need protection. Not from me."

"Hmm," Sanji mumbles, obviously surrendering to sleepiness. "Maybe I should protect you instead."

With that, they fall silent. Soon enough, Sanji's breathing evens out. Letting out a sigh, Zoro slowly shakes his head, before tilting it back to look at the stars.

It's gonna be ok, he repeatedly tells himself. Sanji forgave him, and Zoro now realizes that, even if he screws up again, they'll be able to mend things. Sanji made it clear to him that they were friends, that he cared about him, despite his flaws and shortcomings. It means a lot to Zoro, for some reason, even though he never really cared about such things before. Not when it came to his poor social skills, anyway. But this is different, and all things considered, quite new to him.

They can make this work. This thought brings him relief like he's never experienced before.

Leaning against the wooden planks in his back, he closes his eyes and listens. Everything is very quiet around the ship. Nothing like the confusing jumble of emotions happening within him. For some reason, he feels somewhat euphoric, if his steady, slow yet strong, deafening heartbeat is any indication. Almost serene, yet deeply unsettled. It feels a bit like excitement with just a dab of fear, similar to what he feels right before a fight.

He shifts faintly, opening his eyes and slightly turning his head to glance in Sanji's direction. He's breathing quietly, and looks peaceful in his sleep, more than Zoro's seen him in days. He feels comforted by that sight. Looking at the sleeping cook, he now realizes he missed this – these quiet moments of companionship.

Having them back makes him feel more complete than he's ever had, somehow.

Somehow within the night, he falls into a contemplative mood, basking in the realization that the cook was right from the start. Feeling needed is definitely good. It feels good to him, anyway. If Chopper and Sanji's reactions weren't enough, what he's feeling right now only serves to prove it.

Which makes them not so different, in the end. They are, of course, but they can relate, somehow. And it's okay, because they seem to compliment each other well, making up for each other's shortcomings. Different, with common grounds. Rivals, but equals. Perfectly balanced.

Sanji's a great friend, he finally admits to himself. Nice and supportive, demanding, but also forgiving. Admirable in all kinds of ways. Their friendship, his unrestrained acceptance, as well as the way he reached out to him when Zoro didn't even seem to care – they all feel good to him. So good it makes him feel warm, makes his heart flutter in the most pleasant way.

Which doesn't make things easier for him, not one bit. He could be wondering if getting closer to Sanji was such a good idea, because in the end, it only serves to make him feel confused. But at this point, he doesn't even give a damn anymore. Right now, he wouldn't want it any other way. Their friendship is precious to him, he realizes, perks and flaws included. So precious and important, necessary and vital it feels almost too overwhelming for him to handle.

When Sanji shifts in his sleep a couple hours later, and his head ends up resting on Zoro's shoulder, the latter doesn't even try to move away, despite his uneasiness and much too fast heartbeat. He closes his eyes and breathes in deep, his whole being filling with some foreign feeling that he can't seem to name just yet. Sanji's weight and warmth against him feel just right, comforting, and he ponders that maybe that too is a perk of friendship.

 

 

***

Later, in the morning, Sanji finally wakes up with a start, his air tussled and his eyes puffy with sleep. Zoro tenses ever-so-slightly, waiting for a reaction at the fact he spent most of the night sleeping on his shoulder, but Sanji doesn't seem to notice. Or maybe he doesn't even care. Which is a good thing, because Zoro doesn't exactly want him to know that he spent that same time watching him sleep and listening to his even, quiet breathing.

"What time is it?" He asks, his voice thick with sleep.

Scratching his temple sleepily, Sanji fumbles in his jacket to retrieve a cigarette. He lights up silently, and turns around, leaning on the railing. He looks at the horizon, where the sun's about to rise.

"Are you hungry?" He asks when Zoro doesn't reply. "I'll make breakfast soon. I just want to watch this," he adds, nodding towards the East.

But Zoro couldn't care less about sunrises. Not when he's got Sanji kneeling right beside him, hair swaying lazily in the faint breeze, pale skin shimmering in the rising daylight, and eyes bluer than the muted morning sky. Making him feel all kind of things he doesn't know what to make of. When he came to feel that way about Sanji, he doesn't know. He can't remember, though he supposes it's been a while, and he didn't even realize. But after this night, and all that happened before then, he can finally acknowledge it.

_What..._

"Don't you think it's beautiful?" Sanji asks again, turning towards him, a faint smile on his lips, apparently not caring whether Zoro's going to reply or not.

 _You're the one who's beautiful_ , Zoro wants to answer. But of course, he doesn't.

He's too busy trying to decipher the strange feeling that's taken a hold of him while he wasn't looking.


	16. Always rolling off the tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the comforting burn of the strong alcohol in his throat, Zoro once again feels like he's falling. Or drowning, maybe.
> 
> ... Definitely drowning.

"I'm gonna start on breakfast," the cook says, his voice sounding a little less sleepy.

He stands up in the crow's nest, stretching his arms over his head and making his back pop, then turns back towards Zoro.

"Your shift ends soon."

It's not a question, and Zoro, feeling a little unsettled under Sanji's blue, steady gaze, averts his eyes and grunts in response.

"Join me if you want, when it's over. I'll make you an early breakfast."

Zoro almost shakes his head and chuckles at that. It's not the first time the cook's willfully offered to make food just for him. But it still feels strange, when the cook is being unusually nice to him. Especially now, as he's just barely reached the point of realizing that his feelings towards that idiotic, annoyingly wonderful man aren't strictly of the friendship kind. Not strictly at all.

Apparently, it must still show on his face, because the cook starts frowning, and his thin, well-defined lips twist in what Zoro, despite his reluctance to use such words, can't describe in any other term than a "pout".

"What?" He asks, sounding a little irritated. "I know the drill, marimo. If I leave you alone, you'll just find the closest spot to take a nap and skip breakfast. I promised Chopper that I'd make sure you ate properly, remember?"

This time, Zoro doesn't care to prevent himself from smirking.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch. I'll be there."

Sanji huffs, a little annoyed, but seems somewhat content with that for now. He briskly gets out from the crow's nest and starts climbing down slowly, before reaching the deck and heading for the galley's door. Zoro, absolutely not trying to be as inconspicuous as possible because he doesn't want to be caught in the act, casually leans over the railing and watches him go. Sanji soon disappears from his view, hidden by wooden walls and doors, but still very present to Zoro's mind.

He sits back and sighs, leaning tiredly against the planks in his back, though he's not that tired. The air around him feels crisp, as does everything else. He feels acutely aware of his surroundings. The sun's reflection on the sea looks unusually sharp to him, the small specks of light so bright they almost hurt his eyes. He averts them to look at the wooden floor instead, but he doesn't see any of it.

When was the last time he felt so alive? He's only ever felt like this while training, especially when pushing his limits. While fighting, too, like with Mr. One. It felt invigorating, intensely frustrating, almost thrilling – even though he'd thought he was about to die.

But what he's feeling right now is different. As far as he's concerned, he's not dying anytime soon. And yet, strangely, it somehow feels like he is in danger. His instincts about these things are strong, and he's pretty confident in them. He usually feels it when someone has ill intent towards him, though that's generally not the kind of vibe he gets from Sanji nowadays. But he can't pretend that there's nothing to feel there. It's a strange thing he can't quite place that seems to electrify the air around the cook, that reverberates through Zoro and makes something within him respond, makes him want to come closer. That's the pull he's felt lately, sometimes overwhelming, sometimes not, but he now realizes that it's more or less always there – and it's been there for a long time now. Maybe he's always felt like that, though he never realized before. Maybe that's why they never really got along right from the start. Maybe that's why, for the longest time, he couldn't help but taunt the other man into petty fights over the silliest things – because he's always felt a little bit on edge whenever the cook was around.

On the other hand, he's pretty certain by now that this whole situation is pushing some of limits for him – limits he wasn't aware he had before now.

Because Sanji's a man, and he – he never thought he would – well... He's never felt like this because of a man before. Never thought he would, one day. He only ever felt that specific kind of attraction – or whatever it is – because of girls. Until today, that is, and it's not like it had happened that often either. To be perfectly honest, he's never felt this strongly for a girl. Or for anyone. Not for any of his crew-mates, not even his captain, whom he likes and respects so much. Not even Kuina. He did feel very strongly for her, but it was different. It wasn't the same.

Now that he thinks about it, his relationship with her started in a very similar way to the one he has with the cook : he didn't exactly like her at first, and mostly felt like she was his rival ; like he had to prove himself to her, in a way. He can certainly say that Sanji's been his rival right from the start, and that he didn't like him much in the beginning. But has he ever felt that he had to prove himself to the cook? He realizes with a start that, indeed, he has. And that he knew it from the start, but never noticed until now, because he never gave it much thought – never had a reason to do so. Nevertheless, how he could be so blind to something so important, he can't even begin to understand.

It's true that they didn't get along at all in the beginning, but as he told the cook earlier that night, he never helped it either. That idiot might have started it by calling him crazy when they'd first met, but after Zoro spouted big words and was ultimately defeated by Mihawk in the same day... He did feel like he had to prove Sanji wrong, to prove that he was better than that. Better than the cook, at first, though he soon realized that his temperamental crew-mate could hold his own just as well as he did. It all soon turned into somewhat of a playful competition between them, a competition whose origins they ended up forgetting about, and that none of them could win, because that was just who they were. Trying to one-up the other was how they communicated with each other, and it used to suit Zoro just fine.

It never prevented Zoro from respecting Sanji for his ability – as a cook or as a brilliant fighter, in his own personal way. And he knew the cook respected his own fighting abilities just as much.

He'd always thought that the status quo was satisfying for both of them.

And now, he realizes that he was wrong about that. If he has to follow his instincts and trust everything that's happened lately between them, he has to acknowledge that the cook wanted it all to change. And he made sure that things did change.

And that's also why things were different, with Kuina. His relationship with her never really had time to change much. It might have started out similar to the one he has with the cook now – the status quo they had together had seemed to satisfy them both just fine at first. But then, it hadn't anymore. When it had been time for change, they'd made a promise. A promise to work together towards their mutual goal.

And then, she'd died. When she was gone, Zoro had found himself alone on the path to being the best swordsman in the world. Their relationship never had time to evolve, to turn into something else – something more.

 _Sanji's right here_ , he thinks. He's in the galley, waiting for him to join him for breakfast. He's there, and their relationship has managed to change because the cook has, somehow. And now, Zoro realizes he's changed, too. And he doesn't really know what to make of it, or what to do about it. He feels like, at this point, there should be something significant between them, something binding and yet liberating at the same time, like the promise he made to Kuina as a child. But since goals aren't something they share – because his goals and Sanji's are so different – Zoro doesn't think a promise would do here, or anything else, for that matter.

His train of thought is interrupted right then when he hears footsteps on the deck. Moments later, he's helping Chopper into the crow's nest. Curiously, his nakama doesn't look very surprised to find him here instead of Sanji. For a moment, the reindeer seems to hesitate, looking like he wants to say something, but ends up staying silent. Zoro leaves him to his shift, and starts heading for the galley, where Sanji is waiting.

When he gets there, the cook is turned towards the counter, cracking eggs in a big frying pan. Which doesn't prevent him from noticing Zoro's presence in the room.

"Sit down, marimo," he says nonchalantly, glancing briefly in his direction. "Chopper was just here for hot chocolate, so I started on your breakfast. I knew you wouldn't be long."

Zoro doesn't think the cook is expecting an answer. So, he complies silently, leans back in his chair and muffles a yawn. He doesn't feel that sleepy, thanks to his long afternoon nap, but he didn't have the opportunity to sleep during his watch, which he usually does. It's not necessarily a bad thing, and Zoro wouldn't exchange the enlightening night he had for all the naps in the world. He's looking forward to Sanji's food, though. His deliberate fasting wasn't that taxing on him, but he's still feeling a little more tired than he usually would after a whole night on watch. He also plans on training a bit afterward, and replenishing his energy levels sounds like a good idea.

He turns his eyes towards Sanji, who's now scrambling those eggs to what will probably end up being perfection. From where he's sitting, he can see the side of his face. The cook seems to be focusing intensely on such a simple task – these are only scrambled eggs, after all, though Zoro would be unable to make them even if his life depended on it. Sanji's eyebrow is slightly creased, and he's biting his lower lip in a way that Zoro can't describe as anything other than enticing ; he doesn't even try to deny his word choice anymore.

The cook's slender arms move briskly, making his whole body flutter in tiny, controlled motions. He looks so much like home and comfort at this moment – so right – that Zoro has to close his eyes for a couple seconds, and breathe in deeply.

When he opens his eyes again a moment later, they fall on Sanji's blond mop of hair, faintly shining gold in the morning sun that filters through the small porthole near the stove. Several times in the course of the night, he's felt like brushing his fingers into the soft-looking locks, while Sanji was asleep, but he never dared. He doesn't think the cook would like such unnecessary contact, especially not when he's defenseless – sort of – and unaware of his surroundings, trustingly using Zoro's shoulder as a pillow. Though, Zoro thinks, he certainly wouldn't like it much more when he's awake and very much able to stop unwanted physical contact from happening.

There's something delicate in the fine lines of the Sanji's back muscles, barely visible under the thin but loose-fitting shirt he's wearing, as he moves around, adding some bacon into a second frying pan and pouring the scrambled eggs, now done, in a nearby plate. Sanji's shoulder aren't as muscular as his own, but they still are, even though they're not as wide. Zoro used to think that the cook was too skinny to be a good fighter, at first, only to discover that he was, indeed, very strong if on the slim side. Mostly his upper body, all lean muscles, hidden by his usual suits. The cook's legs might be lean as well, but Zoro has seen the damage they could deal – even experienced it personally. He doesn't doubt that the muscles there are just as hard as his own, due to years and years of training.

He finally realizes he's staring, and averts his eyes, suppressing the emotion that suddenly threatens to surge through him. He can't deal with that on top of everything else right now. Not just yet. Maybe never. But in the depths of his mind, he knows he will have to deal with it later, to acknowledge it. Or smother it in booze, sweat and possibly blood, if the occasion presents itself – marines or a rival crew, preferably. Fighting Sanji right now – with all the resulting physical contact – would kind of defeat the point. Which is a pity, because a good fight between them has always been the best way to take his mind off things. Whatever.

All he knows right now is that, eventually, he'll have to make something out of this situation. It's not like whatever it is that Sanji makes him feel is going anywhere, because Sanji's here to stay. And to be perfectly honest, Zoro wouldn't want it any other way.

***

Later that day, he starts rummaging through the dirty pile of laundry in the boys' quarter, looking for a t-shirt that doesn't smell like it went through a sewer pipe. He just showered after a long, fulfilling training session, and a clean t-shirt sounded like a good idea, at first. Except he doesn't seem to have one available right now. Maybe he should do some laundry later, instead of waiting for Sanji to freak out about the smell in the room and nag until they all work at it. He's pretty sure that would count as being nice to Sanji, which is something he definitely wanted to try. _Yeah,_ he decides, _laundry sounds like a good idea._

Despite the fact the only source of light is the trap door in the ceiling, he finally manages to spot one of his t-shirts. It looks mostly white, so it should do. He grabs it, revealing a piece of blue fabric underneath. Same shade as the cook's eyes, actually, which has him stop and throw it a second glance, as he is in the process of putting his own shirt on.

After a short moment, he slowly resumes slipping the t-shirt over his chest and tucks it into his haramaki, his eyes never leaving the small spot of blue in the middle of the laundry pile. He gazes at it curiously for a bit, his mind elsewhere. Wasn't Nami wearing that shirt at some point? It feels like it happened ages ago, though it's barely been a few weeks. A little more than a month, at most. Curious, he inconspicuously puts his hand on top of the pile, grazing the blue material with his fingertips. Compared to the surrounding pieces of clothing, most of them being old and comfortably worn, it feels very soft to the touch.

Zoro knows nothing about fabrics or shirt-making, but if he had to guess – knowing the cook and his prissy habits when it comes to outfits – it seems to be high quality material. When they talked about it, Sanji seemed somewhat surprised – and stupidly delighted – that Nami wore his shirts at night. He didn't seem to know whether there was a specific reason or not for that. Maybe she just chose to use them as nightwear because the materials of Sanji's shirt are usually good quality, and thus, soft on the skin? This one certainly is.

Once again not thinking about what he's doing, he grabs the shirt and unfolds it. It's certainly much cleaner than his own stuff when he usually throws it in the dirty laundry pile. Sanji's such a clean freak, especially when it comes to body hygiene. When a whiff of cologne and cigarette smoke trails past his nose, he has to admit that, with such a bad habit – smoking, that is, though cologne isn't exactly his cup of tea either – it's only natural to wash clothes often. After all, Sanji wouldn't like to smell like an ashtray. Especially not when he's apparently so sensitive to other smells, like the sweaty one from the laundry pile – that idiot.

Still not thinking at all, he crumples the shirt in his hands and brings it to his nose. Indeed, it smells strongly of cold tobacco – kind of gross. And there's that strong fragrance that Sanji wears daily, some mix of leaves, or maybe even grass, and... lime? Something tangy. Also, that faint sweaty smell that's probably Sanji's own. And underneath all that, Zoro can smell a hint of something floral and fresh. After closer inspection, he finds that this last smell is more concentrated around the back of the shirt's collar. Sanji's shampoo, maybe? Now that he thinks about it, he could smell a similar scent last night, when Sanji was sleeping on his shoulder.

He's not too fond of the cologne or tobacco, but the shampoo smells nice. He breathes it in deeply once. With all those smells mixed like this, and with the addition of Sanji's own smell, it's not nearly half-bad.

A sudden clank from the outside breaks him out of his daze with a start. Blinking listlessly, he looks at the shirt in his hands and nearly cringes.

_What the hell am I doing?_

Throwing it back on the pile of dirty clothing, he rushes out of the room.

***

He's standing on the deck near the railing, facing the dark water. The day is pleasantly warm, with a lazy draft of air that makes the heat tolerable enough. Perfect weather for a comfortable nap. He inhales deeply, feeling relaxed. The air smells like sea salt and iodine.

Something in the water catches his eye. There's a faint glimmering beneath the surface – a shiny fish, perhaps, its scales reflecting the bright sunshine. Or maybe something bigger? The glimmer gradually becomes stronger, the light soon too bright to look at and the water bubbling lazily around it.

The water level suddenly rises, and he closes his eyes. He feels like he's falling for a moment, but the sensation escapes him before he can fully identify it. The contrast should be brutal, because the air outside was warm, despite the wind rushing through his hair, against his ears. But curiously, the water isn't cold. It's lukewarm, actually, and it feels more like he's floating in some kind of imperceptible void. He can't even feel the brush of water against his skin, which feels strangely senseless, or the deck under his feet, though he knows with a kind of certainty that only exists in dreams that he's still standing there.

When he opens his eyes, they don't sting, as the water didn't hold any salt at all. It doesn't feel bad, though. He's not afraid of drowning, because he can breathe the water like air. It feels safe.

He looks around and surveys his surroundings. Indeed, he's still standing on the ship's deck, through he's surrounded by the sea – water is everywhere, crystal-clear, well-lit, with sunlight pouring from above. If he looks down, he can see all the way down to the bottom, where colorful little fishes are roaming, among soft looking patches of seaweed, their scales glimmering in the dainty chiaroscuro, as they brush against the sandy ground.

It's just as if the ship was resting on the sea floor.

Something catches his attention from under the ship's hull, as he registers a movement there, and he leans forward to have a better look. That's the faint glimmering from earlier, but it's too dark there to see properly from his position. He decides to leave the deck and dive.

Curiously, it doesn't feel like swimming at all. It feels more like he's flying, or even floating from a point to another, without the need for useless motions of arms or legs.

He gets closer to the faint light, and despite the darkness, he can see someone there, lying on the sea floor. When his eyes get used to the dim light, he finally recognizes blond hair and blue eyes. The cook isn't looking at him. He suddenly knows with acute certainty that the light he saw earlier was the sunlight's reflection on his hair, in his eyes, despite the fact that there's scarcely any light reaching under the ship.

He's starting to get closer, but Sanji suddenly turns his head to look at him. At that exact same moment, there's a sudden rush of water that propels him backwards. It seems like there's an undercurrent coming from under the ship, forcing him to battle his way there. He opens his mouth to call out to the cook, but it fills with seawater. He can't breathe anymore. Hurriedly, because he knows he won't be able to hold on for long, he kicks at the water strongly and finally manages to come closer to Sanji, who's reaching out to him. He stretches his own arm towards the cook and grabs his hand.

As soon as their hands touch, the rushing water slows down, and he finds that he can breathe again. He wants to pull at Sanji's arm, to help him disentangle from the seaweed and sand and water and bring him into the light, to the ship, to the surface. But Sanji takes hold of his other hand and prevents him from doing so.

They stay like that for a while, Sanji lying on the sea floor and Zoro hovering above him in the water, hands joined. They look at each other like they have all the time in the world, like they're not at the bottom of the sea, like they couldn't suffocate at any point because of the obvious lack of air. Zoro doesn't mind. But Sanji slowly pulls at his hands, bringing him closer, until Zoro lands on top of him, fingers and knees digging in the sand below. The cook's hands are on his hips and the light from above is playing on his hair and skin. He looks almost otherworldly, and Zoro wants to kiss every inch of his face and hair – to bind him, to prevent him from dissolving into water – but he doesn't. That's not how to express feelings of affection, of reverence even. That's not how Zoro does such things. If he ever does at all.

He's suddenly pressed into the sandy ground, and the cook lies over him, their positions reversed. He knows he should protest and push him away, but his arms are around Sanji's thinner frame, They're joined at the lips, their breaths mingling in the water, bodies pressed flushed against each other oh so pleasurable – right – and he doesn't want all these sensations to stop, so he holds Sanji closer – he wants more – more – so much _more_ –

His arms suddenly cut through empty water.

Sanji's gone. He looks around, only to find that he's alone down there. He opens his mouth to call – _where are you?_ – but it fills with seawater. His stretched hand, tries to reach the surface, but his feeble, desperate attempt is crushed under the tremendous weight of a million liters of water above him. He chokes, and everything slowly turns black.

***

He wakes up gasping for air, eyes looking straight ahead without really seeing anything. Everything is too dark. The remnants of his dream are still too fresh in his mind.

It takes him a short while to place his surroundings – wooden floor and walls, a dark ceiling, loud snoring – the boys' cabin. He breathes in deeply, and sighs, before sitting up and scratching the back of his head a bit drowsily. His eyes dart to his right, where Sanji's peacefully lying on the rug, not far from him. He wants to reach out to touch him, to make sure he's really there and not about to vanish, but ultimately decides against it. He doesn't want to deal with a grouchy cook right now, so it's better not to risk waking him up. Instead, he settles for looking from afar.

The cook is facing him in his sleep tonight, which is unusual. There's not much light in the room, but Zoro can still make out his relaxed features, so different from the expressive faces he makes during daylight, whether adoring or angry. His eyes are closed, and his jaw is slightly slack, letting him breath quietly through parted lips. Zoro absentmindedly brings a couple fingers to his own mouth, barely brushing them on the skin of his lips.

The touch of Sanji's lips there felt so real in the dream.

He suddenly turns away, pressing his palms on his eyes as if to rub the sleep away from them. What the hell is he doing? Seriously, what's wrong with him? Is he a moron or what? He should not be watching Sanji while he's asleep. Especially not his lips. Especially not after such a dream, the sensations still too vivid in his mind, against his skin. And despite the fact he dreamed of kissing Sanji – and more, though it was, fortunately, a bit hazy – he's certainly not freaking out, dammit.

 _That's not what I want_ , he thinks. _That can't be what I want._

Then why is he dreaming about such things? Aren't dreams supposed to be clues sent by one's subconscious, hints of fears or desires?

If that's the case, what should he think of such a dream?

More importantly, is that really what he wants from Sanji?

How is he supposed to live with that knowledge from now on, knowing he'll never ever get close to getting it?

He lifts his head from his hands and looks to the side, jaw clenched and eyebrows twisted in a deep frown. Sanji's still sleeping peacefully, unaware of the battle taking place not two feet away from him. What would Sanji think if he knew what kind of dreams Zoro's been having at night? He would probably hate him, Zoro thinks. But that clueless idiot doesn't seem to know, obviously, since he's still treating Zoro as a friend. For now, anyway. Stupid cook wouldn't know better until it him right in the face, anyway. Surely. Probably.

Maybe.

Zoro isn't completely sure yet about what he really feels for the cook – aside from that exasperating mix of aggravation and admiration. That hasn't changed, because despite everything, the cook's still an annoying bastard, sometimes. There's also respect there, for his skills and abilities. For his very human disposition, his generosity and compassion towards his friends. He also knows that he feels a sharp desire to be around him as often as possible, because he likes the company. Everything else is a blurred, uncharted territory.

But even though Zoro realizes that he can be kind of dense on occasion, he's not one to lie to himself or deny the truth when it's so blatantly under his nose. And apparently, there's physical attraction in the mix as well, if his dreams are to be trusted.

And yet, despite the fact there's little room for doubt about that, he's not sure he'll ever be ready to venture there.

But if there's one thing he knows, it's that Sanji must never find out about his feelings. It would destroy whatever is currently between them – friendship, as the cook said, though Zoro knows that it's more than just that because they're _nakama_. And still, he does feel that it's also different from what he knows exists between him and the other members of this crew.

Maybe it's just him though. Probably is.

Either way, whatever it is, Sanji doesn't need to know.

***

"Chopper," he quietly calls from the galley's door, catching the doctor in the midst of preparing some kind of substance made of leaves crushed so fine they look like powder, and something that looks like melted butter.

The reindeer startles a bit, but doesn't seem overly scared by the sudden intrusion.

"Oh, Zoro. I didn't hear you coming." He hops down the chair he was sitting on, and heads towards the door, rubbing his hands to shake off of powdery residues. "Do you need help with something?"

"No, I..." Zoro starts, clearing his throat to give himself time to find the right words, ones that won't sound suspicious. "I want to ask you something. We can talk while you're doing your stuff," he adds, not wanting to look like he's suggesting that their conversation should stay between them.

"Oh," Chopper says. "Okay."

He goes back to the galley's table and resumes working on his preparation, grinding the powered leaves into the liquid substance, until it starts looking more and more like a paste.

"So?"

Zoro doesn't answer right away, frowning deeply instead, just for a moment. But he has to ask, so he breathes in and starts.

"I've been having dreams," he says slowly. "They're not bad or unpleasant," he quickly adds when Chopper briskly looks up from his mixing bowl, "just a little weird. Whatever. Not a problem."

That's a lie, obviously, but it's not like Zoro will enlighten him about the content of said dreams, as he thinks the little doctor is expecting.

Chopper looks at him for a while with a somewhat blank look on his face.

"But?" He prompts gently.

Zoro crosses his arms and frowns, thinking of how to word his request.

_Don't linger - right to the point._

"It's just that I feel less rested when waking up, after having them. It's annoying," he slowly answers, arms crossed and eyebrows frowning. "Is there a way to avoid having dreams?"

Chopper looks thoughtful, scratching absentmindedly his head under his hat, smudging some of the green paste there.

"When did you start having those dreams?" He asks.

"A couple months ago, or something," Zoro says in a dull tone.

"Did something happen at the time?" Chopper adds.

"I don't remember. Probably not," Zoro answers, doing his best to look like all this questioning doesn't make him feel a little uncomfortable.

Chopper scratches his chin, adding more green stains to his fur.

"And what are those dreams about?"

Zoro tries his best not to cringe, and finally decides that a vague answer will raise less suspicions than none at all.

"Random stuff," he says noncommittally. "Usually the ship, the sea, or the crew being weird. Doing weird stuff. Strange places, sometimes. That kind of nonsense."

"So they started out of the blue, and they don't make sense?" Chopper asks, pouring the last of the green paste in a small pot, which he seals with a wide cork.

"Yeah."

Grabbing a nearby rag, Chopper starts cleaning the pot's sides, which have some green spots from his hooves, before going to the sink where he washes them carefully. Once done, he starts using the rag to clean the table and his tools.

"Sleeping medicine isn't strong enough to get rid of dreams," he starts. "For that, you'd need anesthetics, but nothing would wake you up if you took them. Plus they're so strong that it'd mess with your metabolism, so I'm not giving that to you."

He gives the table a last rub, and discards the rag into the sink, before flooding it with clean water.

"You know, Zoro," and the latter can see that his nakama is frowning, "people dream for a reason. I know a little about psychology, but I'm a doctor. I heal bodies, not minds." He looks up to the swordsman. "If you want to get rid of them, maybe the best way is talking about them to someone. It seems to trouble you, despite what you told me, so I won't press, but..."

If Zoro's not leaving at that point, it's only because it'd make him look even more suspicious. Besides, he's not a coward, and Chopper did say he wouldn't force him to tell. He should've remembered that the kid is clever before asking.

But Chopper's obviously not done yet.

"You know you can talk to me? If you want," he finally adds a little flatly.

And Zoro doesn't have the heart to tell him off.

"Yeah. Thanks," he says, a faint smile on his lips, before playfully pushing the hat on his friend's head down so it covers his eyes.

Chopper starts squealing and pulling at his hat, which now seems stuck on his head. As he leaves for another nap, he can hear Chopper's not-so-angry voice through the door.

"I'm not happy about you thanking me, asshole!"

***

"Sanji! MEAAAT!"

"All right, all right," the cook says, his tone betraying his irritation.

Nevertheless, he maintains a charming smile as he bows gracefully before Nami and Robin.

"My sweet ladies, if you'll excuse me," he says suavely. "I have an idiot captain to feed."

Nami ignores him with poise, while Robin elegantly chuckles, delicately hiding her smile behind her hand. Seemingly satisfied with these reactions, Sanji heads for the galley to retrieve more food for their bottomless pit of a captain, a serene quality in his step.

"Hey, Sanji? Can you get me more of that pickled mackerel?"

Sanji pauses, looking at Usopp with a composed look on his face.

"Right. We have to keep you fat and juicy for emergency food shortages."

Usopp raises an eyebrow, worrying his lower lip for a second, before he starts looking at his mashed-potatoes-filled plate with a dramatically dejected look on his face. Eventually, he picks up his spoon and vengefully sticks it in his food.

"Whatever," he says, doing his best to sound bold despite his full mouth, bumping his fist holding the spoon on his chest in a comically proud fashion. "I'd rather eat your delicious food and die a heroic death to save my beloved comrades, anyway."

And with that last retort, he proceeds to polish off his plate.

That last line has Sanji chuckling lightly. He seems to be in a good mood tonight. He even smiles when Chopper attaches himself onto one of his legs, a shocked look on his face.

"I thought _I_ was the emergency food supply on this boat!" The reindeer shouts in dismay, before frowning, seemingly realizing that there's something wrong with that statement. "SANJI! You can't eat Usopp!"

Even from afar, with his face turned away from the storm lanterns' light, the teasing smirk the cook's face is plainly visible.

"You're right, we can't. Not before we eat you, that is," he says playfully. "I'll get you something special, since we have to keep you fat and juicy too."

He finally leaves the deck at a nonchalant pace, accompanied by Chopper's panicked squeals.

Silently watching him disappear through the galley's door from the other side of the deck, Zoro gulps down on his umpteenth bottle of beer once the cook is finally gone. Indeed, the cook really seems to be in a good mood. He didn't even groan about Luffy's demands for a feast earlier that day, and has been somewhat agreeable to everyone since then, including the guys. It doesn't exactly make things easier for Zoro. Sanji's been smiling a lot tonight, smiles that weren't generally directed at him. But whatever. Zoro finds that he likes Sanji's smiles, even if they're for someone else. He wouldn't mind if the cook could smile all the time. He wouldn't mind being the cause of such smiles once in a while either.

It's not like he's deluded about that though. Most of Sanji's smiles are usually directed at the girls – any girls, not just the permanent female residents on board. Not that he'd like the cook to act around him like he does with girls – it'd be just plain dumb, and annoying as hell to boot. He knows that Sanji will probably never smile at him like that, and is determined not to think about it. Or about how such a bright smile would make him feel so stupidly happy he'd probably die of embarrassment.

He's certainly not sulking, because Roronoa Zoro doesn't sulk, dammit.

_Whatever._

It's been an hour since the feast started. Sanji's been bringing dishes upon dishes of delicious food non-stop from the galley since then. And since then, Zoro's been watching from afar, toying with his food – he's not very hungry, for some reason, though he did his best to eat enough, because he doesn't want to offend Chopper and Sanji at the same time.

And he's been noticing tons of small things about the cook.

_Speak of the devil._

Sanji comes back from the galley, a dish resting on each of his dexterous hands, as well as an enormous platter precariously perched on his head, filled with a huge pile of meat. How can such a skinny guy manage to keep his balance in that position, standing on a single leg, with his hands full – not to mention the monstrous thing on his head and the cigarette in his mouth – all the while keeping a greedy Luffy away with his other foot? Not to mention, how is he still able to lean down in front of Chopper, handing him a plate filled with pastries?

Sanji smiles affectionately as the little reindeer squeals with delight at the treat, and Zoro's heart skips yet another beat – not the first one since the night started.

There's that comfortable atmosphere around Sanji whenever he interacts with Usopp, he thinks, as the cook manages to hand the other guy a bowl which probably contains the aforementioned pickled mackerel. These two are on friendly terms, he's always known it, but tonight, as he focused on watching the cook, he saw things he never noticed before. Like the way Sanji likes to tease their cowardly sniper, who curiously never hesitates to cockily tease back, despite the threat of the cook's short temper. Usopp's definitely not scared of Sanji – most of the time, that is.

Sanji then kicks Luffy in the head, taking advantage of the momentary respite to take hold of the giant platter with both hands. He places it on the ground, only to finally let Luffy have his way with that meat. Brushing at his sleeve with a delicate hand to remove dust that only exists to him, he throws a glance at their captain, who's busy with the task of inhaling as much food as possible in the shortest amount of time, and – there it is. Sometimes, when Sanji watches Luffy eat, even though their captain doesn't seem to have time to appreciate the taste of whatever he's inhaling, the cook's face softens just so. Zoro might have missed it, before, because he wasn't really looking.

But that was before.

The cook turns towards the girls, asking if there's anything he can do for them. Or maybe anything they'd like him to bring from the galley? Robin smiles and answers that everything is perfect, _thank you, Cook-san, that dish is delicious_ , and resumes eating. Nami seems to be upset for some reason. Maybe she's aggravated by the other guys' antics. It wouldn't be unusual or surprising. Zoro himself is often annoyed by their behavior. The cook is no exception, especially when he's being a moron around girls.

… But now that he thinks about it, Zoro has to admit that tonight, something feels a bit off. It's not like Sanji hasn't favored the girls during the evening, serving them first and fussing over everything, as usual. But somehow, tonight, his behavior towards his female crew-mates seems kind of different. A little subdued, less effusive than usual, maybe. The change is subtle, but Zoro noticed nevertheless. Perhaps because he's acutely aware of whatever Sanji's doing these days, for some reason that he'd rather not think about right now.

That subtle change makes things even more difficult for him though. He likes Sanji well enough – in a way that he's well aware he shouldn't – when the cook's not being an idiot, but when he seems to refrain like that, somehow, it's even worse. It's like Sanji, knowing how annoying he finds his womanizing antics, only does that for his benefit. Which he knows isn't possible at all, because why would Sanji do that? It's not like he noticed something was off about Zoro... Or at least, the latter doesn't think so. Sanji's still treating him as a friend, after all.

Nevertheless, it makes it difficult for Zoro to suppress any hope he might feel about this stupid situation. He can't afford to be hopeful in the least. He shouldn't even think about it all.

Lost in his thoughts, he doesn't hear what Nami tells Robin, her voice muffled, though he doesn't miss the look the latter discreetly throws him at that moment. It makes him focus his gaze again, sharply, only to realize Sanji's looking at him as well.

 _Shit_ , he thinks. He just got caught staring.

But Sanji just averts his eyes, a lopsided smile on his lips that makes something flutter somewhat painfully in Zoro's chest, and briskly disappears into the galley again.

Zoro refrains a sighs, and doesn't relax yet. What kind of look did he have on his face while he was looking at Sanji? He quickly gulps down the remainder of his beer, which is lukewarm by now. Not that he minds, because booze is booze, he thinks while absentmindedly looking at the floor. He's got more important issues on his mind these days. Will Sanji start questioning his motives? Confront him, maybe? He really hopes not.

He does not jump when a bigger bottle suddenly blocks the view. Trying not to show his surprise, however faint it might be, he looks up, only to find the cook's standing right in front of him. And he certainly does not gulp nervously when the latter opens his mouth and starts speaking.

"What's wrong with you, marimo? You've barely uttered a single word all evening," the cook says, his tone challenging. "Are you brooding or what?"

Zoro vengefully grabs at the bottle in front of him and starts grumbling.

"I'm not brooding, shit-cook. I just want to be alone right now," he replies, his eyes falling on the bottle's label.

Which leaves him somewhat speechless. This bottle is the same kind as the ones Sanji let him have, a while ago. The high quality sake. The one they got from that island with first-rate breweries, the one that cost an arm. Probably the last bottle they have left, because they didn't buy that many of these to begin with, thanks to Nami's unshakeable grip on the funds.

"Care to share a few drinks?" The cook asks.

Zoro shrugs, and doesn't reply. But as Sanji casually sits next to him on the wooden floor, Zoro can't help from wondering out loud.

"Does the sea-witch know that you're letting me have this?"

"She has a name, she's not a witch, and sake's made for drinking, asshole," Sanji answers, not sounding as annoyed as Zoro thought he would. "Preferably with friends. Now or later, it's not like we're keeping it forever, anyway. Not with an alcoholic like you on board."

Zoro looks up to Sanji's face, and sees that the cook is smirking challengingly. He looks away, trying not to let him see how troubled that makes him feel.

"Right."

He deftly uncorks the bottle with his bare hand, and thoughtfully offers it to Sanji first.

"I didn't know you had it in you to behave like a proper human being, shit-head," Sanji says, nevertheless accepting the bottle with a faint smile.

He takes a few sips, and hands the bottle to Zoro, smacking his lips thoughtfully.

"Sake's really not my thing, but I have to admit, that shit isn't half-bad," he says, lighting a cigarette.

Zoro grunts in response, drowning a significant amount of said sake and trying very hard to keep his thoughts straight.

They stay silent for a while, heedlessly watching their rambunctious crew-mates. Zoro cautiously sneaks a glance at him from behind the bottle's neck. The cook's looking straight ahead, seemingly lost in his thoughts. He looks relaxed though, and there's none of this melancholic bullshit about him tonight. Zoro doesn't know if it's because they finally made up, but it certainly makes him feel good about himself and the world. Or would, if he wasn't also feeling that pull, more intense, more persistent than before. It feels almost like falling, or like in those dreams where you want to scream and find out that you can't. It feels like it weighs a ton.

After a while, Sanji's eyes flicker in his direction, and catch him staring. Zoro's heart jumps in his chest, but before he can quickly avert his eyes and try pretending he wasn't looking, the cook looks away without a word. A moment later, he breaks the relative silence.

"Did you notice," Sanji starts, "how Luffy's ears twitch when he chews?"

Zoro didn't expect such a random question. He frowns, feeling a bit lost.

"Huh?"

"Yeah." Sanji nods in Luffy's direction. "Look at him right now."

Zoro follows Sanji's gaze, and his eyes fall on Luffy, his mouth full to the brim with meat – so much that his cheeks are stretched around his face. And indeed, his ears are twitching rather comically as he's chewing.

"Oh," Zoro says in a flat tone, "that's right."

"Damn right!" Sanji says, a wide, affectionate grin on his lips as he looks at their captain. "With those inflated cheeks, he looks like a goddamn rodent."

Zoro lets out a few chuckles, before drawing the bottle to his lips again. On his left, Sanji has fallen silent again. Zoro barely notices, until after a while, he can feel the cook's insistent eyes on him. He tilts his head to look at Sanji while he drinks. The cook's staring at him with a dumbfounded look on his face.

"What?" Zoro says sharply, feeling his gut tighten.

Sanji doesn't answer right away, but finally opens his mouth.

"I made you laugh," he says slowly. "I actually, genuinely made you laugh, because of something I said."

"So what?" Zoro answers in an unimpressed tone.

"I think – I think it's the first time," Sanji answers, averting his eyes.

And then, he smiles. Something surges in Zoro's chest, and he can feel his throat tightening under the weight of an intense emotion. It's one of those smiles that has Sanji's eyes crinkle ever-so-slightly around the corners, even thought he looks unusually nervous and bashful – exactly the kind of smile he wanted to cause, earlier that evening. That smile seems to lighten the whole night, to set the dark sky ablaze, like a meteor shower. He never realized before today, but Sanji has dimples in his cheeks when he smiles like that – how come he never noticed? And is that a faint blush on the cook's cheeks? He can't be sure, because it's too dark to really tell.

"Right," he says, managing to avoid sounding like he's having trouble swallowing, looking away and deliberately concentrating on the bottle in his hand.

Despite the comforting burn of the strong alcohol in his throat, Zoro once again feels like he's falling. Or drowning, maybe.

Definitely drowning, he decides when the sake goes the wrong way and he starts to choke. He can hear Sanji chuckling from the side.

"Oh, come on, marimo. Don't ruin the evening by dying," Sanji says, moving to get the bottle from Zoro's hand, before it spill everywhere. "But don't worry : I'll make sure that your tombstone reads 'choked on his spit'."

Zoro's unable to respond to that taunt for now, which isn't actually a bad thing, because he's at a loss of words. What should he say, as Sanji sits a bit closer so that he can pound on his back when the coughing doesn't recede right away – so close that his knee brushes against Zoro's thigh? What can he say, when it finally starts dying down a moment later, and Sanji looks at him with that subtly lopsided grin on his lips, his hand lingering in Zoro's back, lying flat between his shoulder blades, so light he can barely feel it?

When he finally manages to catch his breath, Sanji's hand disappears. He glances at the cook, who's drinking more of that expensive sake. When he's done, still grinning, he places his hand on Zoro's shoulder and leans towards him.

"I knew that sake was wasted on you," he taunts while handing him the bottle.

His breath smells of strong liquor, and from this close, Zoro can see his cheeks are definitely a little redder than usual. Just the alcohol, then. He refrains a sigh and grabs the bottle, before taking long gulps that comfort his now slightly sore throat, just as they comfort his troubled mind.

Sanji seems satisfied, and lets his hand slowly slide down his arm, until he brushes against Zoro's wrist, making his heart race. Sanji's fingers are warm against his skin, as they slowly graze his knuckles, along his fingers, lying flat on the wooden floor. So light he can barely feel the touch, scarcely lingering there more than reasonable, for a second or two, at most. Nothing worth freaking out over. A mere coincidence. And the cook is obviously tipsy.

Sanji finally stands up when their captain's shouts for dessert, and heads for the galley, accompanied by Chopper's excited squeals and Usopp's loud approval. When he's gone, Zoro lets out the breath he never realized he was holding.

Definitely drowning.


End file.
